


Do Not Pass Go

by linzackles



Series: Do Not Collect $200 [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, actual! discussion!, discussion of past angst, really the whole gamut of everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: “It’s an event,” he finally reveals. “Black tie, the whole nine yards. You my plus one.”“Wait… you need a date?” Annie’s mouth hangs open.Rio cocks his head and the resulting look is both patronising and terrifying.“How can I need one when I already got one?”ORRio needs a plus one and it changes everything.





	1. I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank all my A Part of the Game readers again so damn much for all the encouragement, especially for the Rio POV on that last chapter, it really made my heart grow three sizes and commit to trying to do him better next time (that sounds... so wrong. But I'm kind of ok with it, lol). Thank you for following me over and if you're new here, welcome and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> This chapter isn't too long, mostly it just sets up the rest of what's coming, so please don't judge it on it alone 😅 xx

Rio enters through the fence, hops over the small bush, works at the gate’s lock and is almost all the way into Elizabeth’s backyard when he stops. 

There are at least five workmen milling about and they stop dead when they see him. The one with the clipboard comes over as the rest continue to stare like they ain’t never seen a tattoo before.

“What’s your business here?” he asks, prissy as hell.

Rio rolls his shoulders with a scoff.

“That’s fuckin none o’ yours.”

The man’s pig face screws up. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Naw, I’m good.”

He goes red, about to bark something, when Elizabeth steps out into the yard.

“Barry! He’s ok.”

‘ _Barry_ ’ turns, stricken.

“You sure, Ms Boland?”

“Definitely,” she nods. “Please let him through.”

And all the men side-eye him but make a path that he traverses with equally as harsh glances at each.

“Thank you,” she smiles, all friendly too-innocent housewife. “I’ll bring out lemonade later.”

Rio rolls his eyes.

“What’s goin on?”

“Just having some extra security installed.”

“You know I was kiddin, right?”

She shrugs. “Better safe than sorry. The backyard was unsecure. Anybody could just walk in.”

And there’s a heat behind her tone but he can’t place it, so he lets it go as they enter the house.

“What’s going on with you?” Beth turns curiously to him once they’re in the kitchen. “Why are you here?”

It had been just over a week since they’d last seen each other, as they got their pill operation back up and running smoothly. He’d sent proxies when it was necessary or just texted her, and she hadn’t really minded. She knew he was still busy getting the rest of his organisation back up on its legs and, truthfully, she’d still been recovering from the events of the last time they’d seen each other.

It had been strange to go from seeing him every day to not at all, and she’d missed Marcus, but having some space after everything that had happened had been its own sort of blessing.

Rio seems to size her up for a second, chewing on the inside of his lip, before speaking.

“I need you tonight.”

“Ooh, kinky!” Annie notes, popping up behind him before rounding to stand between them.

Beth sighs. She’d almost forgotten her sister was here and had gone to the bathroom.

It was what had allowed her to take a moment to check on the guys outside, which was when she’d spotted Rio, looking two seconds away from mass murder.

“Need me for what?” Beth asks, hoping that if she ignores her sister then the blush will fade faster. “A job? A meet?”

He smiles a little, devious. “Naw, nothin like that.”

“Then what?”

“It’s an event,” he finally reveals. “Black tie, the whole nine yards. You my plus one.”

“Wait… _you_ need a _date_?” Annie’s mouth hangs open.

Rio cocks his head and the resulting look is both patronising and terrifying.

“How can I need one when I already got one?”

Annie goes pale. “A very good point, sir. Continue.”

Unperturbed, Beth rolls her eyes. “Rio, I can’t. It’s short notice and I’ve got the kids tonight.”

“A, you down to babysit?” he swings to look at the younger sister, who’s moved away and is very busy pretending like she’s minding her own business.

“Who? Oh, me? Down? I dare you to find anyone downer. I’m the _downest_ ,” she grins, gesturing at herself and generally moving in a way she clearly thinks is hip in some way.

Rio stares at her blankly.

After a few seconds of silence, Annie turns pink then makes a beeline for the stairs, shouting up at the kids.

“Guess who has the world’s best aunt over tonight?”

Rio turns back to Beth.

“Why’s your sister so weird?”

She laughs. “Trust me, I have been asking myself that for literally her entire life.”

“You know, I can hear you!” Annie calls down.

“That means your ass ain’t far enough up the stairs yet!” Rio growls back.

This causes a scandalised squeal from Annie, and Beth smirks for a moment before frowning.

“You said black tie? I don’t have anything to wear.”

He watches her for a long moment, jaw working, before nodding.

“I’ll text you an address.”

Beth’s frown deepens and she’s about to ask what the hell that means, but he’s already heading for the door.

“See you at 7.30.”

And then he’s gone, out the back, and Beth stares in bemused annoyance as he deliberately makes his way past the workmen again with a huge self-satisfied smirk.

She’s still staring out thoughtfully when, minutes later, her phone goes off.

* * *

Beth steps into the store hesitantly, like she has no business here.

And the truth is, she feels like she doesn’t. Every dress she lays her eyes on looks like it costs more than triple what she’s paying for her new security system – a quote that had nearly made her faint.

“Hi, I’m June,” a long-haired brunette appears from seemingly nowhere, her smile wide.

“Hi,” Beth smiles back, still feeling uncertain. “I’m Beth.”

“Hi, Beth. Can I help you with anything?”

“Well, um.” She really has no idea what to say, but June is staring at her with wide open eyes – understanding eyes, she feels – and somehow it makes her blurt out the truth. “I’m going to this event tonight but I don’t know what it is, where it is or who’s coming. All I know is that the guy who invited me told me to come here.”

She realises how pathetic it sounds as soon as it’s out of her mouth, but June just nods as if this is run of the mill.

“Who’s the guy?” she asks, heading behind the counter. Then, at Beth’s frown: “We may have his credit card details on file.”

Beth thinks that’s doubtful, but she shrugs.

“Rio.”

June seems to falter, her mouth dropping open, before she catches herself and clears her throat.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you.”

Then she disappears and Beth’s blinked about twice before she’s back with a whole squad of people and a bottle of champagne.

A minute later an entire railing is being brought out, filled with dresses, and Beth once again catches herself realising that she has no idea who in the hell Rio is.

* * *

“Ho-ly shit,” Annie whistles.

Beth spins to see her sister in the doorway. She hadn’t even heard her come in, too caught up in the memory of the boutique.

Everyone had treated her like royalty, and she’d noticed that not a single dress was under the five-thousand-dollar mark, though June had assured her not to think about it. And so she hadn’t, and now she’s wearing a dress more expensive than her entire closet put together.

“Did you pay for that?” Annie asks, her mind going to the same place.

“No,” she scoffs, still half-stunned. “They just let me walk out with it. They didn’t even scan it.”

Annie frowns. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think it’s another business he has ‘arrangements’ with?”

“That, or they just know who he is,” Beth shrugs. “Add it to the thousand other questions we have about him.”

Annie nods understandingly and Beth turns back to the mirror.

The matte black dress fits her every curve snugly – where there’d been even an inch of give, the tailor had taken it in – but widens out a little at the legs, pooling around her feet. But it’s far from plain: silver sequins gleam from the centre of the dress, where it forms an illusion of another set of curves set inside her own.

And then…

“I tried to get them to close the slit, but the tailor refused.”

“Oh my god, seriously? Thank god for that tailor,” Annie huffs. “Beth, you look like a bombshell!”

She bites on the inside of her cheek, her eye going to the slit that rises all the way to the middle of her hip.

It’s more flesh than she ever usually shows but the tailor said that it made the dress and, besides, there wasn’t any cleavage. As if that made it better somehow.

“Ugh, you are _so_ getting some tonight.”

Beth spins back around with a gasp. “Annie!”

“ _What_? _I_ wouldn’t let you go home in that dress.”

“We’re business partners.”

“Business partners who go out on dates in slits that go up to high heaven.”

“I’m going to throw something at you.”

Rolling her eyes, Annie plops down on the bed.

“So what do you think the deal is?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, since when do gangbangers have black-tie events they need to attend?” She gasps. “What if he actually just needed a date to a wedding?!”

“It’s for _work_ , Annie.”

“He never technically said that. I was there, remember?”

And… well. That isn’t actually completely false.

He _hadn’t_ said it was a work thing, but what else would it be?

“And if it _is_ for work, what would that even look like?” Annie wonders, seemingly now mostly to herself. “Shadowy underground poker games filled with smoke? Jazz rooms, cocaine and liquor?”

“He’s not part of the mafia, Annie,” she glares at her sister.

“All I’m saying is you have no idea what you’re walking into.”

And, well. She’s not wrong there, either.

“Soooo I was thinking of printing out the first five pages of Urban Dictionary for you. To prep.”

Beth stares. “What’s Urban Dictionary?”

“Oh my god. You need my help more than I even thought.”

“You need a shoe in the face,” Beth glares and Annie laughs.

“Fine, I’m leaving! But, FYI, you should wear your hair up.”

And then she does leave the room and Beth hesitates before pushing a hand into the nape of her neck and lifting her hair up.

She thinks about it for a few seconds before going in search of some pins.

* * *

Beth steadies the teardrop earrings, takes a minute, then decides _yes._

Her glance flits over the completed look, hair and makeup in place and, as she contemplates the night ahead, she loses herself somehow.

_“So, what do you think? Want to take down Rio?”_

_She draws a breath, fast and shallow._

_Then: “No.”_

_But she’d considered it, she had. For an instant, she’d considered it._

_Nico smirks. “Your mouth’s saying no, but your eyes are saying you’ll think about it.”_

_And she wants to deny it but suddenly he’s moving forward, pulling something from his pocket._

_It’s a card._

_“Here’s my number. When you’re ready, you call me.”_

_And she finds herself reaching out, taking it. She gets another glance at his tattoo. It’s not a triangle after all, but the letter M._

_“I’ll probably be lying low for a while; I hear there’s a hit out on me.”_

_And he meets her eyes when he says it, tilting his lips, like it’s some sort of inside joke. And she doesn’t know what to make of that because he seems amused, but if he’s going to be lying low then surely that must mean he also isn’t taking Rio’s threat lightly?_

_“It was good to meet you, Beth. I look forward to working together.”_

_He smiles and it’s so disconcertingly ingenuous that she has to look away._

_Her gaze goes down to the card, which has a simple N and his number neatly written in the middle._

_When she looks back up, he’s gone._

In the mirror, Beth glances at her bedside table. She’d put his card in the top drawer. She doesn’t really know why; she’d just wanted to get it out of her hands as fast as possible.

And she’d tried to put it out of her mind, too – hadn’t even told the girls – but she keeps remembering; keeps thinking of how sure he’d sounded.

_I look forward to working together._


	2. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments on the previous chapter! It's so great to hear what you guys are liking and looking forward to, it really helps me with later chapters!
> 
> ~ This Friday-night update brought to you by my non-existent social life ~

He gets there at 7.20, slipping in through the side door and, well. At least she can say they _both_ go silent, lips parting.

It goes on for some time, her eyes running over his black-on-black getup. Each item fits him perfectly; is tailored to the lean lines of his leonine body. The black tie isn't too skinny, sitting primly beneath the double-breasted jacket and finished off with a gold pin. A sleeve whispers over one of the leather-banded watches she’d seen in his bedside table.

He's even wearing formal shoes, which she lingers on, realising she's never seen him in anything but sneakers.

Then her eyes jump back up, raking over the bird perched securely against his throat as if he’d pulled on its jet-black ink for the night, too. His beard is shaved almost all the way off, leaving just a dusting of stubble, like when she’d first met him.

"Why you ain't on a runway somewhere?" he finally speaks, and it makes her eyes go back to his. But his own don't stay with hers for long, moving to take more of her in; dance his gaze across more of her body over and over.

"Like Milan or some shit. I ain't that into fashion, but I'd watch that show." Slowly he gets back to her eyes and inserts his trademark smirk, so the compliment isn't too sincere.

She clears her throat. "You don't clean up so bad yourself."

"Uh huh," he agrees, stepping closer. "Too bad everyone's gonna be lookin at you, though."

She refuses to let that make her breath stutter, though her heart definitely does.

"You have a way of making compliments sound like thinly veiled criticism."

Even saying she belongs on a runway – it has the air of implying that the life she’s living here, now, isn't good enough.

He shrugs, still smirking. "It's a talent." He takes a wide look around. "You ready?"

"You're early," she points out.

"You look ready," he continues, as if she hasn't said anything.

"I have to say goodbye to the kids. I'll meet you in the car."

He stares at her for a second, as if trying to convince them both that she needs his approval, even though she hadn’t left any room for it.

"A'ight."

He turns and leaves, and she watches him go because, damn, the pants fit well too.

* * *

It’s time. Now is the time to tell him.

For the past week Beth had struggled, convincing herself that it wasn’t the right time. She hadn’t seen him in person, after all, and she definitely couldn’t tell him over the phone. He’d freak. And this morning’s visit had taken her by surprise, she hadn’t been prepared. But now, with silence hanging thick in the car, it’s the perfect time.

She clears her throat.

“Has there been any progress with Nico?”

Really, if Rio’s killed him already, that solves all her problems. (And _yes_ , she knows how that sounds, but at this point, finding a silver lining in a gang hit probably doesn’t even the crack the list of the top ten worst things she’s done.) She won’t have to deal with his inevitable tantrum that she’s kept this from him for as long as she has, plus she won’t have to deal with Nico again. 

“Naw,” he bites out as he shifts, annoyed. “He gone deep underground; took his players with him too.”

Beth frowns, surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he shut down good.”

And he shoots her a look, as if to remind her what a shutdown is like. And oh, she remembers.

“But that’s good for business, isn’t it? You were worried about him stealing clients. Now that’s not a problem anymore, right?”

He clicks his tongue. “Told you I wasn’t worried. Had it handled. Now he done disappeared in a puff o’ smoke and we ain’t got no leads.”

She thinks about the card in the top drawer of her bedside table, bearing Nico’s phone number.

She could give it to Rio. Or she could call him and have him walk into a trap.

But – _I want Nico’s head on a fuckin platter._

And Beth remembers Boomer kneeled before her; holding a gun to his head. She remembers Rio demanding Mary Pat’s name.

Each time she’d refused murder as a solution – what makes this any different?

Seeing the silver lining in a gang hit and setting it up – damn near pulling the trigger herself – are two very different things. 

And besides, Nico hadn’t threatened her or even Marcus. He’d been damn near polite, compared to her first few run-ins with Rio.

“You notice anythin else weird?” he asks, glancing at her.

“No.” She chooses her words carefully: “I haven’t noticed anything weird.”

He nods, satisfied, and Beth stews.

She doesn’t have to tell him about the card, really. She could just say Nico had approached her and offered her what he had.

But the thing is…

The thing is, if she tells him, then she can’t ever take Nico up on his offer.

_Your mouth’s saying no, but your eyes are saying you’ll think about it._

And maybe he’d been right. Because after everything that’s happened, she doesn’t how much she can trust Rio, if at all. God, she still barely even knows who he _is_.

And what if he just picks up and leaves again with no warning?

 _Better two gangfriends than zero_ , she can practically hear Annie saying.

Which doesn’t mean she’s going to do it. She’s _not_ going to do it.

But she doesn’t have to tell him, either. After all, once she tells him, she can’t un-tell him.

But she can always tell him. Right?

Realising she’s let the silence sit for suspiciously long, Beth clears her throat.

“How’s Marcus?”

“He good,” Rio nods. “Pumped to be back with his momz.”

She hesitates, then: “And how’s she?”

“Better, but she ain’t in tip top yet. Stayin wit’ a friend till she back up on her feet.”

She digests this. Why hadn’t he offered for her to stay with him? Or had he and she’d refused?

 _Dad made Mommy sad_ , she remembers Marcus’ summary of their relationship.

There are about a thousand questions there but she stows them all, knowing none will lead to anywhere helpful. Rio’s in prime avoidance mode, his hard outer shell in place, and she isn’t in the mood for being the special mix of berated and frustrated that results from trying to get real information out of him.

Besides, there’s something more pressing she needs to pry about.

“At what point are you going to tell me where we're going?”

He eyes her then let outs a little breath.

“The guy who bankrolls my operation, his name’s Schiller.”

“Schiller,” she repeats. “So he's your boss?”

He fully glares at her now – and she thought she’d become immune, but it shoots ice into her veins.

“ _I'm_ my boss.”

“Okaaay,” she stresses, an apology implied in her tone.

His glare continues for a moment longer before he clicks his tongue and continues, turning his attention back to the road.

“He throws this damn party ever year–”

“Wait, so you knew about it in advance, you just decided to invite me at the last minute?”

“Was hopin I could get out of it.”

“Is it that bad?” she frowns.

“Waste of my time,” he shrugs.

“But you _couldn’t_ get out of it, I gather.”

He rolls his eyes and she considers making a joke about his boss telling him he had to go, but something tells her that probably won’t go down that well.

“It’s just some pompous update – all his players come and catch each other up. Boring as shit.”

“Like a black-tie quarterly meeting?”

“Exactly.”

“And for criminals.”

He shoots her a look at that but she smiles and he returns it in his own small way, seemingly involuntarily, before looking back at the road.

She considers.

“So am I coming as an arm ornament, or do I actually get to sit in on the meeting?”

And that makes him laugh, the gruff sound issuing from his throat.

“Oh, mami, you more than welcome to sit in. Sit that lily ass all you want, till you as bored to tears as the rest of us.”

She glares but he doesn’t catch it, focused on steering, and suddenly she realises they’re pulling into the driveway of the biggest house she’s ever seen in her life. It could probably fit her own into it five times over.

So much for _shadowy underground poker games filled with smoke_.

Her mouth is open as she stares but suddenly he’s calling her attention as he grinds the car to a stop, his voice serious.

“Elizabeth.”

She turns and is surprised to see his eyes looking just as stern.

“Listen to me. Those people in there, they look like you and they talk like you but they ain't like you, alright? They snakes and you don't trust em, not for a second. You got it?”

She nods almost automatically, too stunned to really process.

“…So what _do_ I do?”

He sighs, blinking for the first time.

“You follow my lead.”

And then he’s dropped the handbrake and pulling up to the entrance, a valet opening her door and helping her out.

Rio stares down the poor man as he hands over his keys and Beth turns to peer inside, seeing glittering lights, gorgeous gowns and Armani suits. Music from a quartet floats out with the scent of expensive perfume.

If Rio’s right then it’s the most cordial snake pit she’s ever seen.

“C’mon.”

Suddenly he’s beside her and she hesitates for a second, not sure she’s allowed to touch him, before reaching out and wrapping her wrist around his bicep. He doesn’t flinch so she presses herself to him more securely, and he meets her eyes for only an instant before leading them inside. She’s thinking about how good he smells when suddenly they’re accosted by what feels like a small army.

Everyone seems to be squealing some version of a greeting or his name before a tall pale man joins and his voice booms out.

“Rio. How nice of you to join us.”

His accent is Scandinavian and his presence authoritative. He’s taller than Dean, with darker features, and seems to revel in staring down at everyone.

She’s immediately wary, but Rio just shrugs, like he couldn’t care less about the displeasure in the other man’s tone.

“Here, ain’t I?”

One of the initial squealers joins the tall man’s side, taking his arm.

“Who’s your date?”

And now the tall man’s eyes finally go to hers and she smiles politely, about to speak, when Rio does.

“This Elizabeth. Elizabeth King. Elizabeth, this Schiller and his wife, Cary.”

 _King_??

Her mouth opens in a gasp and her eyes dart to him, but then Schiller is taking her hand.

“How lovely to meet you, Miss King.”

She clears her throat and delivers her most winning smile.

“Likewise.”

“I can’t wait to find out everything about you,” Cary grins.

A champagne tray floats by and, to her surprise, Rio takes a glass. Beth doesn’t want any but she remembers what he said about following his lead, so she takes one too.

“Yes,” Schiller agrees with his wife, “it’s right about that time. Rio.”

And suddenly Schiller’s striding away and Rio’s pulled free of her, following, and she feels like a deer caught in the headlights as about half a dozen women stare eagerly at her.

Before she knows it, she’s taken off.

“Rio!”

He actually stops, turning, and she catches up to him.

“You said I could go with you!” she admonishes while trying to keep her volume down.

“Oh, this ain’t the meeting, mami,” he shrugs. “Schiller always kicks off with cigars for the men.”

“Oh.” And normally she’d point out the sexism in that, but right now she has a more pressing problem: “So you’re just going to leave me with them??” she whisper-shouts.

“They your people; just talk about Mary Kay or sum’n,” he smirks, then giggles naughtily at her resulting glare. “Relax, a’ight; I’ll be back in a minute. Can’t stand the smell of that shit since I quit.”

And before she can say anything, he’s leaned all the way in, placing his lips to her hairline.

She stiffens automatically and his hand goes to the small of her back.

“They watchin,” he reminds her.

And, _that’s right_. This is a show.

She forces herself to relax into him, like they do this all the time. He hums his satisfaction, which he wouldn’t do if he knew that his cologne is infiltrating her senses, causing her legs to become complete jello.

“ _Don’t tell em anythin_ ,” he growls against her forehead, and then, with a squeeze at her waist, he’s gone.

Beth stands still and breathes fresh air into her lungs, air that is not permeated with Rio. Then she forces herself to forget the feeling of his mouth against her skin and his hand at her back.

Finally, when she feels like she can move again, she twists back around to the six grinning women with a silent groan.

Why in the hell had she agreed to any of this?

* * *

Turns out Rio, in classic Rio fashion, had largely understated the size of the event.

‘ _Some pompous update_ ’? Sure, if that update included three hundred people in a ballroom the size of a football field.

She finds out from the women chatting that this is, in fact, a charity gala held annually by Schiller. She also finds out that all proceeds ostensibly go towards the police force, and Beth very nearly can’t contain her eye roll.

A new woman joins the table and they’re introduced. Her name is Lorna and she’s not pleased with Beth’s name.

“Oh no, I know another Elizabeth. Can I call you Liz?”

And then the rest of the table is agreeing that she looks far more like a Liz anyway and Beth is officially in her own personal hell. She thinks she’d rather be home baking everything-free cupcakes.

Jenna informs Lorna that ‘Liz’ is here with Rio, and Lorna’s brows nearly jump right off her forehead.

“ _Really_? How did you two meet?”

“She dropped her groceries and he picked them up,” Jenna repeats the answer Beth had already given Cary.

“Oh, how sweet,” Lorna gushes, before immediately turning to the other women. “Remember his date last year?”

And this causes an eruption that Beth struggles to follow no matter how hard she tries, only managing to catch snippets like ‘ass on display’, ‘no manners’, ‘leave her dress at home next time’ and ‘no accounting for taste’.

Eventually Susan squeezes her hand.

“I hope you come back next year. You’re his nicest date yet.”

The thought of _next year_ makes Beth's throat dry, not least because she has no idea if Rio will even still be in her life by then.

“Although remember the year before last?” Amy points out.

There are ohs and ahhs before Lorna pipes up: “That was his sister, wasn’t it?”

Susan nods. “Yes, she was quite lovely.”

“Still, we’d rather have Liz,” Amy agrees.

With her head spinning, it takes Beth a second to remember this is _her_ , and she smiles graciously.

Finally seeing an opening for her to speak, she clears her throat.

“Last year?”

And now all their eyes widen, as if just realising their insensitivity to his current date’s presence.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about her,” Susan waves her off.

“And she was a tramp anyway,” Edith calls from the far end of the table. “Though it’s hardly surprising, considering.”

Beth is about to ask what exactly that’s supposed to mean when Lorna cackles.

“Do I sense some bitterness, Edie? Did David feel her up in the washrooms?”

That gets her a glare from Edith, who immediately jumps up and stalks away as the rest of the women begin listing all the other women David’s felt up in the washrooms over the years.

A waiter goes past with a champagne-filled tray and Beth desperately flags him. He tries to give her a flute, but she shakes her head.

“Do you have bourbon?”

“Umm… no, ma’am, I don’t think so.”

“Could you check?”

He nods then dashes off in the direction of the kitchen.

Alcohol is plan A. Plan B is finding the bathroom and killing as much time as she can texting with Annie about how terrible this is.

It’s five minutes later – when the women are discussing the pros and cons of the appetisers – when she realises plan A is a bust. She’s doing a 360, trying to determine which exit is likely to lead her to a bathroom, when suddenly a tumbler is sat down next to her, followed by a whole lot of Rio.

She looks from him to the amber liquid with wide eyes.

“Where’d you get that??”

“Schiller keeps all the best stuff in the cigar room,” he shrugs. “You welcome.”

“You should’ve brought the bottle,” she complains instead of thanking him, taking it and immediately downing it all.

The burn in her throat tells her maybe, just maybe, she can make it through this night after all.

“I can see that,” he smirks.

She doesn’t have the opportunity to berate him because just then a waiter appears between them, laying down dishes of shrimp cocktail.

The rest of the men are also slowly busy returning to the tables and it’s enough of a distraction for Beth to lean in to Rio and whisper.

“Next time, rather put a bullet in my head than leave me alone with them.”

And he tosses his head back and laughs for so long that all the women turn to stare and she kicks him in the shin, which only makes him laugh harder.

* * *

* * *

**Rio's suit:**

**The closest I could find to Beth's dress:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell by now, this gala is going to span a good several chapters and a lot more is coming! Looking forward to hearing what you thought about what's happened so far :)
> 
> P.S. Am I the only one dead imagining Rio in that suit???


	3. Fresh Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets emotional!

Beth’s starving.

The shrimp cocktail was terrible, and the entrée was some weird fish dish that was more dish than fish. On the up side, though, she’s getting drunker faster.

The waiter clears her plate and Rio turns to her curiously.

“Wanna dance?”

Her eyes go from him to the dancefloor, where a few couples have already started swaying to the post-entrée tunes.

She looks back at him.

“Ok.”

“Cool.”

He stands, holds out his hand, and Beth hesitates before taking it. He has to help her up more than he should have to and she flushes.

She didn’t realise she’d had that much champagne. She’d kept taking a swig every time Lorna said something embarrassing, and the waiter just kept replacing her glass.

His hand stays firmly wrapped around hers and she wants to tell him she’s not going to fall, but she’s not all the way sure of that and, besides, she kind of likes the feeling of his long fingers enrobing hers.

Then suddenly they’re on the dancefloor and he places his hand on her waist. It takes her a beat to remember where her hands should go, and he smirks.

“You pretty drunk, huh?”

Their hands join and, for a second, she gets too caught up in it to respond.

Then she rolls her eyes.

“I swear I’ve never met more insufferable people. And I’ve served on multiple school boards – that’s, like, Insufferable People Central.”

He seems amused. “Yeah, they take some gettin used to. They say anythin interesting?”

“Horrid, boring and mean-spirited? Yes. Interesting? No. Although they did say I’m your nicest date yet, so there’s that.”

He smirks unkindly.

“Yea, and by nicest they mean whitest.”

Not denying this, she looks back at their table, which she’s secretly labelled Crime Table A.

She’d found out that there are only a few more tables filled with Schiller’s people – the rest of the guests are just here for a good time, a charitable cause and crappy shrimp cocktail.

In addition to being the most insufferable people she’s ever met, Crime Table A is also so incredibly white. It hadn’t taken her long – especially after Edith’s comment – to realise why Rio had said she looked and sounded like these people. They all looked at him strangely, like they didn’t understand why he was here, and the rare few times he’d spoken – with an _ain’t_ or a _naw_ thrown in – she’d noticed looks being exchanged.

And it irked her in a way she couldn’t quite word, but had pinpricks marching up the back of her neck. How could they not see their hypocrisy? They were all criminals, every single one of them.

Which maybe was part of what had made Beth feel like her skin was on inside out. All her life she’d thought people who lived like this – in mansions with huge parties and glittering driveways – had simply found the magic answer in life. With their children in all the best schools, shopping in all the fanciest stores and driving the most amazing cars – she’d assumed they’d toiled for every cent.

But, really, they’d stolen it all then had the audacity to look down on _Rio_ , and it made her want to cram each of their WASP necks down the garbage disposal.

Instead she’d downed more champagne. 

And she wonders: had others handled it better than she had? Should she have said something despite how unfazed he’d seemed? ‘Following the lead’ of a man who has the world’s best poker face is troublesome, to say the least.

“Have you ever dated a white woman before?” she wonders, perhaps a bit more bravely than if she were sober.

“Never brought one _here_ before,” he says, which isn’t really an answer, but again she decides to pick her battles.

“Why not?”

He shrugs.

“Wanted to send a message.”

And it’s not surprising that he’d bring a whole person as a shorthand for telling everyone to fuck off, but that doesn’t mean it’s entirely unsurprising.

“Then why’d you bring me?”

He shrugs with just one shoulder.

“’Cuz I wanted to.”

And he stares back at her as if daring her to point out that his reasoning isn’t good enough and it nearly makes her laugh, because that’s the very last thing she wants to do.

His hands are warm, one on her body and the other entwined in hers, and what Beth actually wants to do is ask him _why_ that is but, with her eyes on their linked hands, she says something different instead. Something that doesn’t poke at a live wire.

“I’m surprised you asked me to dance.”

And that makes the hard mask crack, amusement peeking through.

“Yeah, I hate dancin at these things – but I figured how much of an asshole would I be if I brought you to somethin like this and didn’t ask if ya wanted to dance?”

And that makes her eyebrow pop up.

“Wow. I would _love_ it if you asked yourself that like a hundred times more often.” Then, when his brow darts up, too: “ _How much of an asshole would I be if_ I smashed up the Corvette? _How much of an asshole would I be if_ I suggested a bathroom break after demanding two hundred thousand dollars? _How much of an asshole would I be if_ I sent Beth body parts in the mail?”

And now he’s laughing almost as hard as he had earlier and even though Beth’s not joking, she can’t help smiling too. None of it had been anywhere near funny at the time, but it all seems so far in the past now.

And so far from this moment, too, like they were a different Beth and Rio to the ones here and now, slow dancing.

Maybe they are.

“You mentioned something earlier,” she says, when his laughter dies down.

“What?”

“That you used to smoke.”

“Yea.”

“When did you quit?”

“’Bout ten years ago now.”

Around when he would’ve found out Marina was pregnant with Marcus, she notes, but doesn’t say.

“That important?” he asks, brow cocked.

“No.”

“Then why you askin?”

She shrugs.

“Because it’s one more thing than I knew yesterday.”

_And because breaking into the White House is easier than getting an answer about anything that is actually important._

“Hm. And why does knowin stuff about me matter?”

Which catches her off guard, so she spins the easiest lie there is.

“I don’t know.”

They nearly bump into another – older – couple and she’s not sure whose fault it is, but Rio holds up his hand and apologises anyway.

And maybe it’s that – or seeing him sip champagne, or deigning to converse with the idiots at their table, or maybe it’s all of it, all of it – because, meeting his eyes, she lets the truth out instead.

“Maybe because I see you here, with them, and I wonder: who's the real Rio? The one they know, the one I know or someone different altogether?”

She remembers watching him that day she’d followed him; remembers the people he’d met with that looked nothing like any of his associates should. She remembers the people at the boutique paling at his name and letting her walk out with a dress more expensive than she can let herself imagine.

_So, where is he?_ Annie had asked.

_Who is he?_ she’d countered, and despite taking care of his son and finding out about his ex-wife and his sisters, she’s still nowhere nearer to an answer.

And Rio watches her, serious, for a long moment before his face cracks into a smile.

“You one to talk, _Lizzy_.”

“Oh, god.”

He’s laughing now and she’s blushing, remembering how one minute she’d been Liz and the next she was Lizzy and she still has no idea how she’d gone from Beth Boland to Lizzy King in an hour.

But then he pulls her a little closer and she can’t help meeting his eyes. And there’s something in them, something she can’t read but wants to.

“You wanna get some fresh air?” he asks, quirking a brow just a little.

She glances down at his lips before looking back up at his eyes.

Beth nods.

* * *

He points out the terrace then, spotting a waiter, tells her to go ahead.

She does, only slightly struggling to maintain her balance, and is grateful for the night breeze. It’s kind of sobering, and she stares out into the inky night, dotted with the fairy lights in Schiller’s front garden.

And, for the first time, she really starts to think about it.

Schiller. Annual black-tie events. Colleagues with WASP wives.

Rio steps out to join her and Beth immediately turns to him, accusatory.

“You… aren’t a gangbanger, are you? Not just any one, anyway. I mean this has got to be, like, a _syndicate_.”

He smirks, amused.

“Honey, I ain’t just _any_ anythin.”

She glares. “Are you capable of providing a real answer to anything?”

He looks even more amused, shrugging.

“Depends how good the question is.”

And he leans onto the railing, staring out, which is too distracting; she finds herself staring, too – at him.

He even looks good in the night, the dark accentuating his cheekbones and tattoo as the fairy lights bounce off his eyes.

And before she knows it, she’s approached and he’s eyeing her.

Her hand goes to the railing, a few inches from his.

She doesn’t really know what she’s doing, except that she wants to somehow be closer to him.

It’s so easy, when they’re having sex or even when she’d been so out-of-her-mind scared that she’d hugged him, but now, here, closing the three inches to touch him – not to dance or for anything necessary, but _just for touching’s sake_ – seems like the most impossible thing in the world.

A gust of wind blows particularly roughly and she remembers that day at the port again. _You’re ok_ , he’d said, assured, and it’s what drives her to lift her hand –

“Sir.”

They both turn. The waiter Rio had found is waiting at the doorway. Rio hesitates for only a second before thanking him, handing him a wad of cash then coming back with a deep cube filled with nuts.

“Here,” he shoves it at her, and she takes it.

She hadn’t realised he’d been trying to procure her more food.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, before beginning to stick a few cashews in her mouth.

She double-checks to make sure the waiter is gone before turning to Rio.

“Do people actually pay for the bird food at this event?”

He smirks.

“Yea, a shitton, too.”

“And how much of it actually makes its way to the Detroit Police Department?”

“Oh, all of it.” At her raised eyebrow: “Any moron can run a scam, sweetheart. Making other people pay your bribe for you? That’s art.”

Of course. Schiller can’t pay the department directly, but a charity event can. And he doesn’t have to pay a dime. 

“I think we have very different definitions of art.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, just rolls his eyes a little, and she places some more nuts in her mouth, thinking about all the abstract art she’d seen on the walls at his place. She’d actually really liked all of it, but it had been so incongruent with who she thought he was that she hadn’t thought much more of it; had deliberately not looked at it whenever she went to the storage units.

Instead her glance would rove over everything else, trying to put the puzzle pieces of him together.

At first she’d decided that he’d ordered everything out of a catalogue; that every room had just come out of a box. But then she’d seen all the photo frames, black-and-white ones of his parents, even, and she’d gotten to know Marcus. And his room had suited him too well, she’d realised. There’d even been an archery figurine, she’d remembered later.

And when she’d gone back to the storage units, she’d noticed none of those things had been there. He’d taken them with him.

“Maybe we should go back inside,” she suggests, hearing how clipped the words come out.

He’s leaning on the railing again, looking at the view, but now he glances at her.

“You cold?”

“No.”

She’s not – she’d picked her dress well – but she doesn’t really know what they’re doing out here. The last thing she wants to do is have to deal with those awful people again, but standing in uncomfortable silence with Rio isn’t exactly on top of her list either.

“Got enough fresh air, huh?”

“I didn’t come out here for fresh air.”

And now he cocks his head.

“No?” He steps forward till he’s too close. “What’d you come out here for, then?”

And she doesn’t know how to say it so instead she takes a step forward, the cube of nuts taking up the only space between them.

And Beth’s looking him right in the eye – daring _him_ , for once.

She knows the second his gaze goes down to her lips, and it instantly makes her lose her grip on the situation.

She feels 15 again every time he looks at her like this, hoping the boy will like her enough to kiss her.

But then she hears a fumbling near her hands and he steps back, popping one of the nuts in his mouth as he turns away.

She stares at him, shell-shocked.

_Why does he keep doing that??_

Yes, he enjoys jerking her around, flirting with her, but it was normally either harmless or non-existent; professional. Yet this was the second time he’d come so damn close to kissing her before just pulling away.

No.

The third, she realises.

_One question left. You want it?_

And she had; she’d wanted _him_ , but he hadn’t given her that option. He’d pushed her away like she had him.

_Will you please leave my house now?_

_You should go. It’s over._

“I’m sorry,” she breathes.

He turns with a raised brow, something guarded in his eyes.

“’Scuse me?”

She steps forward, just enough so he can’t claim her words drifted away on the wind; just enough to keep them tucked tight between them.

“That day, when I took you to my house–”

He shakes his head vehemently. “We don’t gotta–”

“Please. Just let me say this while I’m drunk enough.”

And he rocks back on his heels, squaring his shoulders and looking at a spot above her shoulder with his mouth pulled into a grim line.

“I used you. Because I didn’t know how to say that I didn’t wanna give you up, and because–” She nearly bites it back but forces herself to keep going: “Because I’d convinced myself that nothing I did could hurt you, so it didn’t matter.”

Now he meets her eyes, a crease forming between them as he takes a small step forward.

“You think you hurt me??”

And his tone is affronted, dangerous, but she thinks they’re way past that.

_Oh, you think you special, huh?_

But she is, she knows that now. She knows it from the way he’d shielded her with his entire body when he’d thought she was in danger; from the way he’d said _He threatened my kid, Elizabeth, he threatened you._

So she doesn’t shrivel or surrender; doesn’t let her insecurities about them get the better of her.

When she speaks, her voice is soft but steady.

“Why did you leave?”

And this catches him by surprise, his step faltering.

“’Scuse me?”

“I saw your apartment and then you left. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

She can’t help the way her voice breaks on the last word, all the hurt that she hadn’t let herself feel since that night at the dealership coming rushing back.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares, rolling his shoulders back; concealing his thoughts as expertly as always.

And she realises – she’s gone about this all wrong. (Imagine that.)

He won’t let her in when she tries. He never does anything on her terms.

So she turns away, lets her hair fall over her eyes so he can’t see them.

“Or… maybe I didn’t, hurt you,” she chokes out. “All I know is that I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.” She breathes. “You… you meant more to me than that.”

She presses her eyes closed because, god, now it’s coming. Every single time he pushed her away and made her think this all only exists in her mind; that she’s alone in having real feelings. And now she’s saying it aloud like an idiot.

_That’s what I am? Work?_

_Pretty much, yeah._

_That’s it?_

_That’s it._

“We were more than a transaction.”

She’d never felt as dirty as the moment she’d put that money down on the dressing table; felt his gaze heavy on her.

And so maybe she’d deserved it. Deserved him kicking her out of his home when he’d known she wanted to stay more than anything else; to have him inside her as she tried to climb inside him – tried to unravel some part of this man who hung up abstract art and black-and-white pictures of his parents; who had a colour scheme, watch collection and considered bedding.

_You want it?_ She had; she’d wanted _him_ , all of him; her own rejection stupidly forgotten.

She gasps when suddenly Rio is right beside her, brushing her hair slowly out of the way. And this time it’s different because her shoulder is to his chest and she refuses to meet his eyes, but it’s tender all the same, and she wishes she could ask him why. Why can’t he just say what he means instead of touching her like this, only ever leaving room for more uncertainty??

And maybe it’s the alcohol, but suddenly she decides she _will_. Beth opens her mouth as his finger caresses her chin –

And then there’s a knock on the terrace doors.

She thinks she either has the worst or best luck tonight.

They both turn – not unlike that night Dean had come outside – to find a greying white man at the door, one foot stepped outside.

To his credit, he looks a bit apologetic.

“Meeting’s about to start.”

But then he hovers, as if expecting something from them, and Rio glowers.

“ _And_?”

The guy swallows then steps back.

“Ok. See you in there.”

And he disappears so fast, it nearly makes Beth laugh. Rio’s menacing effect is pretty hilarious when she’s not the one having to endure it.

“Fuckin David,” Rio says with a harsh exhale.

“Wait, _that’s_ David?”

“You know him?”

“I know what he does in the bathroom with people’s dates.”

And that makes Rio chuckle as they begin to head back inside.

“So you got some juicy info after all.”

And she glances at him. “They also mentioned your sister, actually.”

He snorts lightly. “Best not have said anythin bad about her. Gabby’s the nice one and she’ll still cut a bitch.”

She’s smiling in spite of herself at that when something suddenly occurs to her.

“Hey, speaking of sisters: can you please stop calling Annie A? She seems to think nicknames means you’re buddies, which is probably why she keeps saying insane things to you.”

Rio looks nonplussed.

“Oh, I just forgot what her name was.”

She stares at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah; I was pretty sure there was an A in there somewhere, though, so figured I’d roll with it.”

And she starts laughing so hard that she genuinely thinks her spleen may burst.

Which is when she realises, _oh god, something else is going to burst._

She halts instantly, a tiny whimper escaping her lips, and Rio looks at her with befuddlement.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to pee.”

And normally she’d be a little more delicate about the phrasing, but she’d forgotten how much she hates champagne for exactly this reason – it gives her zero control over her bladder.

Rio smirks before nodding.

“A’ight, c’mon.”

Thankfully the nearest bathroom is only a few steps away, and Rio leans back against the wall outside, one foot pressed against it, as she darts inside.

It’s only when she’s halfway to a stall that she realises she’s still holding the nuts and she considers for half a second going back out to give them to Rio to hold but then her bladder makes itself known again, and with an eye roll she pushes into the stall.

The dress sticks to her like Lycra but eventually she gets it up and sits down, noting that the seat is heated. (Of course it is.)

And then Beth’s kinda glad she hadn’t given Rio the nuts, because her pee seems neverending and she figures she may as well have a snack while she waits. She’s crushing an especially salty almond between her teeth when she realises she may as well check her phone, too.

She gets it out as she pops another nut in her mouth then sees a text from Annie. Well, there are a dozen, but she only pays attention to the most recent one.

**_Come ON, I need details! What’s happening, what are you doing?_ **

Shrugging, she responds.

**_In the bathroom, eating nuts._ **

Annie’s reply comes through instantly.

**_Rio’s???????_ **

And at a party filled with criminals, Beth nearly dies choking on a cashew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hope you enjoyed xx


	4. Precarious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to learn some more about Rio and his business dealings!

Whether it’s because of the nuts, the pee, the choking or the perfume she’d spritzed on, Beth feels pretty sobered up by the time she emerges from the bathroom.

Rio’s waiting patiently, staring off into seemingly nothing, and pushes off from the wall when he sees her.

“Ready?”

She nods and he nods too, so they resume heading towards the meeting.

Beth notes how empty and quiet this section of the house is. She can just barely hear the music of the party from the hall.

“In here,” Rio eventually points out, and she definitely would’ve missed it if he hadn’t.

The room is tiny from the outside, but from a glimpse inside, she can tell its size is deceptive.

“Wait here,” he orders, and she frowns but has no time to argue because he disappears inside.

She’s only had a second to wonder what’s going on before he comes back out again, closing the door behind him. He grabs her arm and tugs, not letting up despite her glare, and doesn’t stop till they’re a few feet away from the door.

“What is going on?!” she gasps.

“Need you to listen to me.”

“Well then maybe you should use your words instead and actually _say something_ ,” she scowls.

He stares, not a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“You done?”

And it makes her go stock still because he really isn’t joking or mocking, or anything even approaching the relative calm he’d been all night.

Whatever had just happened in the second he’d been inside had completely set him on edge, and it makes Beth lose a breath.

“What’s wrong?”

He jerks a thumb towards the room. “There’s a guy in there. Name’s Swenson. Black moustache, ugly green tie.”

“Ok…”

His jaw ticks.

“You don’t look at him, you don’t go near him and you definitely don’t talk to him.”

Beth stares at him, incredulous.

“Why not?”

“’Cuz I said so,” he growls. “You got it?”

“But–”

“I said, _you got it_?”

And it’s that same tone he’d used with her on the phone that morning: _Don’t fucking make me ask again._

“Y-yeah,” she nods.

“Good. Now let’s go, we late.”

And he’s back inside in seconds but she’s still rooted to her spot, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

* * *

It’s almost a minute later when Beth slips in, closing the door behind her.

A few people – who aren’t focused on the guy in front speaking – look up, and Beth’s halfway into smiling apologetically when she realises one of them has a moustache and a green tie.

Instantly she looks away, her heart pounding as she tries to find Rio.

He’s standing at the back of the room – they’d clearly been too late for seats – and she goes to stand beside him. She nearly squeals in surprise when he curls his fingers into her dress and tugs her closer, pressing her in tightly to his side. She looks up at him, planning to admonish him with at least her eyes, but his jaw is set and he’s pretending to focus on the presentation, so after a short silent huff, she does too.

And, the truth is – Rio’s right. It’s incredibly boring, all of it just figures and financial strategies. Three guys go after the first and even by the time each is done, she still has no idea how any of them actually make their money. It’s only when the fourth guy goes up to the front that she finally knows, and that’s only because he has props.

“This is my pride and joy,” he says, cracking open a necklace box.

A murmur runs through the room and Schiller compliments the quality of the work, which is when Beth realises: the giant stones aren’t real diamonds – it’s a fake.

She’s wondering what it’s going to be used for – just sold off as real? Exchanged for a piece of real value? Used to bribe someone important? – when someone says something bone-chilling.

Only it’s not _what_ they say so much as who says it, and who they say it about.

“How fortuitous that tonight we have a model,” Swenson grins, and turns to look directly at her.

For the first time Beth takes stock of the room and realises she’s the only woman – and Rio one of only three people of colour – and she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this when Schiller speaks.

“Do you mind, Ms King?”

And she looks at Rio, who looks displeased but not altogether disagreeable, then shakes her head.

“Of course not.”

And the poor guy makes to step forward with his pride and joy, but finds himself suddenly accosted by Swenson, who takes the necklace from him and heads toward Beth as if he’d been instructed to put it on her personally.

She’s swallowing nervously, feeling like a deer trapped in headlights, when suddenly Rio steps forward, stopping Swenson with a solid arm across the chest that’s practically a clothesline.

“Yeah, that’s as far as you need to be goin.”

And he plucks the box from the man’s spindly fingers before turning to Beth himself.

Clearing her throat, she takes the box from him so he can retrieve the necklace.

He meets her eyes for a moment that seems to stretch too long, his breath cool and calming on her face, before he reaches up to place it around her neck.

She ducks a little even though it’s unnecessary – mostly she just doesn’t want to have to meet his eyes anymore.

It’s so unfair the way he can say the most abrasive things to her without explanation and then, with the least amount of effort, erase it all with a look. She doesn’t want it to be possible but it is, and so the best she can do is try to avoid it.

But then he’s done up the clasp and she knows it’s time to model the piece, so she straightens her neck as Rio moves out of the way, sweeping Swenson along with him. Everyone oohs and ahs and she does a slow twirl, feeling incredibly silly, before the necklace’s owner begins rattling off stats and manufacturing information about it.

She feels awkward, not sure what to do now, when Rio’s hand lands on her arm.

“Sit,” he says helpfully, nodding at a chair in front of them.

Only, the thing about the chair in front of them? _There’s a man in it_.

He turns, as if knowing they’re talking about him, and Rio focuses the most manufactured look of disgust on him.

“You really just gonna sit there all comfy and let the lady stand, huh?”

And the man is on his feet in seconds, leaving Beth to roll her eyes and Rio smirking triumphantly.

* * *

Rio’s presentation is, well… fast.

“Yeah, I wasn’t plannin on comin, so I ain’t got my stats here or nothin. But, long story short, business is good and I still do the same shit I did last year, so refer back and whatnot.”

Beth’s eyes go to Schiller, along with the rest of the room’s.

Schiller shifts, smiling in a way that isn’t in the least bit pleased.

“That’s not exactly true, is it, Rio?”

“And you didn’t have a presentation last year, either,” someone else points out.

Beth’s eyes dart back to Rio, but he couldn’t look less bothered.

“We really all pretendin we wanna be in here for a minute longer than necessary?”

And there’s a long awkward silence in the room before Schiller clears his throat.

“Well. Thank you, Rio. Devon, would you go next?”

And Beth can’t be sure, but she thinks she hears someone whisper something bitterly about Rio being the favourite and someone else agree that he can get away with anything, and she feels a little bit better about not being the only one he can do that to.

* * *

Beth suspects that Rio slips out to the bathroom minutes before the meeting ends not because he actually needs it, but because he’s avoiding Schiller chastising him.

But she dutifully waits outside the room anyway, especially since she has to give the necklace back.

She’s tapping her foot – these guys gab more than the women, she swears – when Beth’s stomach drops as an ugly tie, criss-crossed with tacky diamonds, appears in her eyeline.

“You have a lovely neck. The piece suits you.”

She smiles tightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re Liz King, I believe? Ethan Swenson.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, making sure to tuck her hands behind her back.

God, where _is_ Rio? How does he expect to avoid the man when he disappears on her??

“You’re here with Rio?”

“I am.” She makes a show of looking back inside the room. “Do you know when the necklace guy will be out?” she asks, hoping he’ll offer to go inside and get him.

“Oh, soon enough, I’m sure.”

She’s burying an annoyed sigh when he speaks again.

“Are you married?”

Her eyes snap to his.

“Why would you ask that?”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “I suppose I’m just trying to get to know you. Children?”

And suddenly all Rio’s warnings throughout the night come back to her.

_You don't trust em, not for a second._

_Don’t tell em anythin._

“No.”

“What a shame. They’re such little blessings.”

“They are.”

“You want ones?”

She clears her throat.

“Maybe someday.”

“Ah, well. Let’s hope you’ve not waited too long.” She glares harshly at him for that and he immediately rushes to explain: “No offence, of course. In fact, just the opposite. I’d love to help you, if you so need. When someday arrives.”

She’s opening her mouth to ask what that’s supposed to mean when a very familiar growl comes from behind him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Swenson turns and Rio’s standing there, hands in his pockets and murder in his eyes.

“I was just keeping your friend company. You should never abandon a lady, Rio.”

“And _you_ should never tell me what to do,” he threatens, stepping forward.

Swenson takes a step back. “There’s no need for that. We’re all friends here.”

“We ain’t nothin of the sort. Now fuck off.”

And now Swenson seems to find his courage, stepping right up to Rio.

“That wasn’t what you said when you needed my services, was it?”

Rio grinds his teeth, looking like he really wishes he had his gun.

“And I paid you. That makes us done. We ain’t friends; matter fact, I want nothin to do wit’ you, so get out my face.”

Swenson hesitates for a second, glancing at her, before sulking off.

And then suddenly the necklace guy is there, thanking her for wearing it and telling her about it, but she’s not listening at all, because her mind is on the exchange she’d just witnessed.

She tries to remember Swenson’s presentation. There hadn’t been more to it than numbers, but she does remember the room going a bit silent at parts, and then she remembers his words.

_I’d love to help you, if you so need. When someday arrives._

Beth feels sick and she’s ambling away as soon as her neck is free. Vaguely she hears Rio come after her, and it’s only when she’s found a quiet corner with a cool wall to press her forehead to that she stops.

“You don’t gotta worry about him,” Rio’s voice comes, soft.

She doesn’t listen to him, doesn’t look at him; focuses only on not retching.

It’s only when she’s gotten her breathing back under control and the bile no longer seems to be rising from her stomach that she lets herself speak.

“Is Swenson a human trafficker?”

The silence ticks on for long; too long.

Then: “Yea.”

And she presses, steadies herself, against the wall then forces her gaze to him.

“And you worked with him?”

And now his expression becomes steely; defensive.

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s not?” she accuses.

And now he steps forward, snarling.

“I didn’t traffic nobody.”

“Then what?” she presses, facing him head on. “Or, let me guess? That’s not important?”

His eyes narrow and she thinks there’s a decent chance that may have actually been what he’d been about to say.

“Needed his expertise.”

“In what?” she scoffs. “Organs? Child brides? Slaves?”

And now he gets even closer, something illegible in his eyes.

“That what you think of me?” And he tips her chin up, not rough but firm, so she’s forced to maintain eye contact. “You think I’m capable of that?”

And she falters because no, _no_ , she doesn’t.

On instinct she knows, but there’s also the way he’d looked at Swenson; the way he’d spoken to him with unconcealed disgust.

But Rio misinterprets her hesitation, jerking his chin.

“Ask him, then. Go on.” His jaw ticks. “I said go ask him.”

And finally she manages to speak, shaking her head a little.

“I believe you.”

And it takes a few moments but then his shoulders and jaw relax, and Beth realises she’d managed to really offend him.

But she thinks she’s done enough apologising tonight so she squares her shoulders instead, half-glaring.

“You know, if you explained things from the start instead of just barking out orders, there’d be a lot fewer misunderstandings.”

He rolls his eyes, making to pass her. “Whatever.”

“No,” she spins. “I’m gonna need you to say it.”

And he turns slowly, a smirk set on his lips, remembering that night just as she is.

And his expression is the same as it was then, except he steps closer; uses his height against her for the millionth time.

“Next time I’ll explain.”

She holds his eyes for a few seconds before nodding.

“Good.”

He lets the eye contact continue for only a second longer before pivoting away from her, casting his gaze about.

She fidgets, trying to stop one of the million questions she has from rising to the surface, but it’s useless.

“How do you do it?”

“What?”

“Work with someone involved in something so awful.”

And it’s only when she hears it come from her mouth that she realises she, too, is well-versed in the art.

Sure, maybe at the beginning she’d been able to convince herself that he only laundered money, but soon she’d been forced to acknowledge that there were parts of Rio’s organisation that did things she didn’t want to know about. Getting rid of rotten eggs, for starters.

And when he looks at her, it’s with a small smirk, like he can read her mind.

“I stay in my lane,” he says simply. “You want a drink?”

She blinks and he’s moving away and she realises that, just like that, he’s dismissed the conversation. And it’s a mix of being used to it and believing him – genuinely believing him which, god, is so dumb, but she can’t help it – that has her letting it go and following.

“Is it champagne?”

“Naw,” he smiles a little. “There _is one_ good thing about the meetin.”

“And what’s that?”

“The open bar after.”

Oh, thank god.

“Why does it only open after?” she complains.

“‘Cuz these clowns can’t hold their liquor. You see that pious-lookin fella in the back?”

She had. He’d been sitting rod-straight with a cross around his neck that could rival the Pope’s. She’d been internally debating whether he smuggled Bibles or was just Schiller’s personal priest sitting in.

“Yeah, he brought down a champagne tower in ’09. Had to get twelve stitches.”

“No way,” she gasps, laughing.

“Yea, Schiller didn’t think it was that funny.”

“Well, in his defence, champagne towers are designed to be precarious.”

“Oh yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Really?” she peers at him doubtfully.

He nods solemnly. “Yea. _Precarious as shit_ , my exact words.”

She elbows him and they both break into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Rio information reveal would be complete without about a dozen more questions popping up, right? ;)


	5. Make It Two

There’s an empty bar outside the hall – she supposes the ones inside must have opened too, serving people directly to their tables – and Beth orders as soon as they get to it.

“Bourbon on the rocks.”

“Your best and make it two,” Rio holds up two fingers.

He’s wearing a different set of rings on them tonight, black ones, and her gaze lingers for a second before she forces herself to turn away.

A fraction of the hall is visible from here and she watches people get onto the dancefloor, order wine and generally enjoy themselves.

“How much longer do we have to stay?”

He follows her gaze.

“What, you wanna dance again, darlin?”

She rolls her eyes and he smirks a little before passing her her drink. He gulps his but she only sips at her own, thinking over the night.

It had been a rollercoaster she’d been nowhere near prepared for and despite the drinking and laughter, she still doesn’t really know where she and Rio stand.

And the worst part is that she thinks he prefers it that way; prefers her staying in the dark, just like with everything else.

He hadn’t accepted her apology, he’d just pushed her damn hair out of the way, and then he’d shouted at her and given her a seat and and and. God, it’s all so mixed up in her head and the alcohol isn’t helping. It’s like the Dubby all over again; him yelling at her mercilessly then going to retrieve it for her.

And she wonders: is this what it will always be like with them? A constant tug of war where she feels like her hands are always slipping from the fraying rope?

She clears her throat.

“An hour? Two?”

He sizes her up.

“Whatchu want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

She knows that, at least. Because even when she’d finally been honest, he’d said nothing. ( _You meant more to me than that_ , she’d admitted, and he’d said _nothing_.)

She’d finally told the truth, loosened her grip on the rope, and instead of doing the same, he’d just yanked his side harder.

So it doesn’t matter what she wants. He’s the one in control, he’s always the one in control.

_You just stay in your lil lane._

And suddenly he’s sidled up beside her, leaning against the bar a little so they’re the same height.

“ _All that matters_ is what you want, sweetheart.”

His stare is smouldering, his lips gleaming with a sheen of bourbon. She forces her gaze back up to his eyes.

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then I want eighty percent.”

And the moment cracks and breaks along with his seduction as he laughs drily.

“You got jokes, huh?”

Her smirk is forced then disappears behind the rim of the glass as she gulps down the last of her drink. She’s about to ask again about leaving when suddenly he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

He checks the caller ID.

“It’s Marcus.”

And the little boy’s name manages to pull a genuine smile from her.

“Say hi to him for me.”

He nods then answers and she hears him say “Hey buddy” as he walks away.

Beth orders another drink.

* * *

“Uh huh,” he nods. “But he beat him in the end, right?”

“Yeah, because he had an exploding arrow! And it was even faster than his others!”

Rio laughs a little. He’s pretty sure Marcus has seen this episode more than once before – that he’s seen it _with_ him, even – but fuck if half of raising a kid ain’t pretendin not to remember shit they already told you.

“That’s dope.”

There’s muffled discussion on the other end.

Then: “Mommy says I have to go to bed now.”

“Then why she lettin you call me?” Rio points out.

“Think she knows where you are,” Marcus sighs.

He frowns. “Do _you_ know where I am?”

“On a date.”

Surprised laughter comes from his mouth.

“How you even know what a date _is_?”

“Tía Gabby says I’m going to have lots one day.”

He rolls his eyes. He barely ever leaves the kid alone with his family for more than two seconds – for exactly this reason – and they still somehow manage to get shit in his kid’s brain that he don’t approve of.

“’Course she does.”

“So _are you_?”

“Am I what?”

“On a date,” Marcus says, with a duh tone.

“Ain’t you supposed to be goin to bed?”

“Daddyyyyy–”

“And so what if I am?”

His gaze goes to Elizabeth, who is swaying a little and looking like she has no idea she’s doing it. She’s got a surprising sense of rhythm and for a moment he forgets to focus on the conversation.

But then Marcus’ voice rings out.

“Who’s it with??”

“I’m glad you asked, Pop. Been wanting to tell you about her, actually. Her name’s Itsya. Last name: Bedtime.”

And Marcus groans long and hard, making Rio laugh.

“Love you, kid.”

He sighs, unimpressed, then: “I love you too, Daddy.”

“Sleep tight, yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

And he holds on to see if Marina wants to speak to him, but then the call ends with a click and he rolls his eyes.

He supposes she got the date for Schiller’s party memorised. It pisses him off that she’d told Marcus, though. He’s gonna have to deal with that.

But he puts it out of his mind as he re-places his phone in his pocket. That’s some other day’s problem.

Right now his eyes are on his ‘date’, who’s leaning onto the bar with her elbows, her incredible ass sticking out and her entire thigh and leg on display through the pried-open slit. And he doesn’t know if it’s the liquor or just her general vibe, but she’s completely oblivious to the absolute spank bank material she is. He watches three different guys, on their way to the bathroom, take a second look. Warm pride settles in his stomach, followed instantly by a strong sense of possession that broils way hotter. So he glares at all three when they make their way past him, wishing for about the millionth time tonight that he hadn’t been forced to leave his gun in the car.

And she still hasn’t looked back over at him, hasn’t realised his phone call is over, so he takes the time to stare at her.

He remembers her asking why he’d brought her here, and like a fuckin idiot he’d actually told her the truth. He hadn’t had anything else prepared – no rationalisation, no excuse, no lie – and so he’d admitted to just _wanting_ her here.

And he had. He’d known the dangers – all the people she’d meet and shit she could find out – and potential consequences, but he still hadn’t been able to _not_ bring her.

And then he’d rationalised it – to _himself_ – that it just had to be this one time. She’d ask all her annoying questions and laugh at all the white people jokes and then he’d have learned his lesson.

Except that ain’t how it had gone down.

Nah, she’d hated them all just like he does, hadn’t let a thing slip and made him laugh, a lot.

He’d wanted her here and she’d made him enjoy it, and fuck, that’s a problem.

He watches as she accepts another drink from the bartender, her face twisting a little, and Rio remembers how she’d suddenly gotten real grumpy right before Marcus’ call.

He ain’t sure if it’s about Swenson or what happened on the terrace, or something different altogether.

And, fuck – _what happened on the terrace_.

_I didn’t know how to say that I didn’t wanna give you up._

_All I know is that I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. You meant more to me than that._

He keeps trying not to think about it, because it’s the only way he can get through this night without pulling her into the nearest empty room and getting her naked and mewling against him.

It had taken everything he had not to follow her into the bathroom, but they’d already been late and, besides, it wouldn’t have been enough. He doesn’t want her for just ten minutes or an hour – he wants her for the whole night. And after that he ain’t letting her walk away again, either.

Though she’d wanted to leave here, hadn’t she? Well, then they can leave. He’s more than ready.

And he’s about to head over and tell her when he realises with a groan that she ain’t alone no longer.

* * *

“Cary certainly likes you,” Schiller smiles.

There’s something handsome but untrustworthy about him, and it makes Beth put all her guards up. Though, of course, that could have something to do with the fact that she now knows part of his crime ring involves human trafficking. (And god knows what else, honestly.)

“Yes, I like her too.”

He smirks.

“You have a very good poker face, Ms King.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, wearing it.

“Yeah, so,” Rio suddenly appears beside her, “we gonna bounce.”

They both turn their attention to him, Schiller’s mouth drawn into a thin line.

“You really couldn’t prepare a presentation?”

“Ran outta time,” Rio shrugs.

“It’s on the same date every year,” Schiller deadpans.

“Oh, yeah, but my PowerPoint was actin up. Kept sayin ‘Error: You don’t do dumb shit like make PowerPoints’.”

And Schiller stares at Rio in a very defeated way before looking at her.

“I hope you enjoyed the night, Ms King.”

“Yes. Although the food portions could be bigger.”

And he doesn’t seem too pleased with this either, before his own poker face slides into play.

“I’ll let the caterers know. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

And her attention is drawn from his retreat by Rio draping an arm around to the other side of her, caging her in, as he silently shakes with laughter.

“Lemme ask you somethin, mami: were you born with the ability to piss men off, or they teach you that somewhere?”

And, realising he’s not going to address their proximity, she huffs lightly.

“You said follow your lead! And you insulted him.”

And that just makes him laugh harder.

* * *

Beth lays her head back once they’re back in his car.

Rio turns on the air and she’s grateful. She feels like they’re speeding away from the lion’s den, especially after that last encounter with Schiller.

She’s just glad Rio’s call had ended when it had so that he could come divert the conversation – she got the impression that Schiller had been trying to fish for more information about her.

If it hadn’t escaped her notice that she was the only date in that meeting, she’s sure it hadn’t escaped his, either. And she’s not entirely sure Schiller’s the kind of man whose radar she wants to be on.

“You did good,” Rio says suddenly, and she smiles in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She takes a moment to absorb this rare praise before responding.

“You know, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, it was horrible, but it wasn’t that bad.”

He laughs a little.

“Yea.”

And why does she feel disappointed? Why does she want him to say he’d enjoyed the night with her; that he’d wanted to bring her, and he doesn’t regret it?

Why does she always want so much more than either of them are ever willing to give?

They’re both quiet for a few minutes and it’s when she sees her exit coming up that she realises.

“I don’t wanna go home.”

He glances at her in surprise.

“Where you wanna go?”

She thinks about it.

“Literally anywhere else. Preferably that has really good bourbon.”

Not that she doesn’t have enough of it running through her blood already.

He snickers a little.

“I know a place. Bit of a drive, though.”

But now that they’re alone, truly alone, she doesn’t mind it so much anymore. Nobody to interrupt or be intimidated by. Just the two of them and some drinks.

_I’ll have another. And he’ll have a chardonnay._

_No, I won’t._

She misses that day’s easy familiarity; the polar opposite of everything they’d been on the terrace earlier.

“I’m comfy.”

They share a smile and he speeds up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's officially the end of the gala! With a little bit of Marcus thrown in there too (thank you so much for your Marcus love and encouragement of Rio's POV!). Would love to hear what you thought. And where do you think they're headed now??


	6. Don't Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for all the positive feedback on the last one, I'm so incredibly grateful, thank you!

She’s texting with Annie when the car pulls to a stop.

Her sister had sent through a playlist for the trip – as if they were going on a roadtrip instead of thirty minutes from Schiller’s place – and now she sends a rolling-eyes emoji before firing through another message. 

**_We’re here. Stop texting me!_ **

Turning her phone to silent, she sticks it in her purse then finally looks up.

Beth gasps.

They’re parked in front of a huge glass house that looks like it belongs in a movie about a tech mogul. She wants to ask, but Rio is already halfway out of the car and with a frown she exits too, looking back at it again as soon as she’s out.

Whose house is this and… they aren’t breaking in, are they?

But Rio steps right up and slips a key into the door, pushes it open and types in the alarm code.

She hovers behind him silently then trails after him as he enters, switching on lights that only illuminate the beauty of the house.

The kitchen is huge, with black and stainless-steel finishes everywhere. It puts hers to shame – something she’d admit about very few kitchens.

Had he brought her to the world’s fanciest Airbnb? There’s something about the lack of anything personal or lived-in that makes that make the most sense to her. It’s cold and empty of everything but furniture. The hardwood flooring looks like it’s never been walked on and there’s no art on the walls; no TV.

She’s still walking around, trying to make sense of this place, when she spots a photo frame.

Nearing, she picks it up then pulls it into the light. A light breath leaves her lips when she realises it’s a picture of Rio with his son, nearly identical to the first one she’d seen in his apartment, as if taken seconds later. As her eyes adjust, she sees another two frames, one also containing a picture of the two of them together and the other of just Marcus, much younger.

Shaken, she crosses back towards the brightly lit kitchen, where Rio is pouring them drinks.

“This is your house?”

He pulls a face. “Yea. Sorta.”

“What does that mean?”

“I own it, but it ain’t where I stay. Guess your people’d call it a _nest egg_.” He leaves her a moment to glare at him for the dig, with which she happily complies, before adding: “Sometimes Marcus brings his friends over.”

Beth nods slowly, trying to absorb this; wondering why he hadn’t taken her to his _actual_ place. Is it still not set up? Or is she just not allowed to see it?

Noting her hesitance: “Whatchu think?”

“It’s…” She shrugs. “Gorgeous. But cold. Lonely.”

“Yeah, I don’t normally come here without the lil man.”

She looks at him, really looks.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

His lip quirks up. “I wasn’t about to take you to some bar in no twelve thousand dollar dress.”

A bar is exactly where she’d thought they’d been heading, or perhaps a restaurant open late.

And Beth steps closer, because she can’t _not_.

She wants to figure him out. All of him, in general, but also him here, now; in this moment.

“Is that the only reason?”

He blinks then takes a breath, long and slow. She watches; waits.

“Maybe I wanted you all to myself.”

She’s not in control, not of the way her cheeks burn and her eyes take in every part of him.

“Do you have a sound system?”

He raises a brow. “You got some tunes?”

“I feel like dancing,” she nods.

Real dancing, not more slow dancing, she tells him with her eyes, and he nods the slightest bit to let her know he understands.

She gets out her phone, opens Annie’s playlist, then passes it to him. He meets her eyes for a brief moment then takes it and heads to a corner of the room.

She’s lifting her glass to her lips when the music fills the room. She gulps and lets her hips sway.

His eyes are on her and she remembers that night at the restaurant, when she’d been there with Dean and all she could think of was having Rio’s eyes on her instead as she moved.

Only, the way he’s looking at her now is so much better than even in her fantasy. 

His advance is slow, like the movement of her hips as she lets the music and his gaze move her. She feels the bourbon warming her chest as Rio’s eyes blaze across the rest of her.

She forces her eyes away from his, looking up instead as she takes another sip.

She wonders how, in this dress and this house and with this hairstyle, she somehow feels the most Elizabeth she’s felt in forever. In this moment she’s nobody’s mother or wife or friend or sister. She’s just her.

She turns around just as he gets to her and his breath is warm on the back of her neck.

He comes even closer, placing his hands on her hips. God, she wants to melt into him.

The song is dark, dripping with need, and it drives her. Her hips sway back into his and then her head follows, dropping onto his shoulder. He likes it, she can tell, by the tightening of his fingers on her, pressing ten little bruises into her hips.

The dress pants conceal even less than his jeans and she can feel him, hard, against her lower back. A strange sort of relief fills her because even though she knows – every time he looks at her, she knows – it’s still good to have proof that he still wants her. That their partnership hasn’t become platonic, no matter how hard they’ve both recently tried to make it so.

Which makes her think – _they really shouldn’t be doing this_. It’s not the kind of change she’d been hoping for; it’s not getting off the rollercoaster, it’s finding another high. And just because they’re feeling what they’re feeling now doesn’t mean that what had gone before hadn’t happened. It isn’t smart. It’s foolish, dangerous, it always had been, and starting it up again would be even more so – to say nothing of the whole Nico situation.

But then he starts his own slow grinding and Beth’s eyes close as a moan releases from her throat of its own accord and she thinks _Fuck being smart._

She turns her head and he’s ready for her, meets her lips, when she opens her mouth.

She’s forgotten the perfection of his lips and the heat of his tongue and both make a moan go from her mouth to his, the kiss is so hot that she feels them set everything around them on fire. So much for his house being cold.

His fingers feel agitated at her hips and she realises he wants to find a way through the material. She considers the slit for a moment before shaking her head, pulling away from the kiss. She can’t wait; wants all of him.

He meets her eyes for only a second before he nods and moves the weight of his hand to her wrist, tugging her; dragging her. She sucks her lip into her mouth, the ghost of his mouth still etched there, and she’s giddy in a way she doesn’t think she’s ever been before in her life as Rio pulls her toward the staircase. She nearly struggles to keep up with him in her heels and when he pauses for a moment she thinks that’s why, but instead he turns and directs his voice towards the lounge.

“Stop playlist.”

The music immediately stops flooding the house, letting the cold back in, but then his eyes land on her and she’s burning hot. He smirks at her as if he knows, and then just like that he’s off again, pulling her up and towards.

The house is a labyrinth. She’s too drunk on him and the bourbon to follow all the twists and turns they take before they finally get to a tall black door. He releases her wrist, pushes it open, then enters and steps aside. It’s a mirror image of the day she’d invited him into her bedroom for the first time, and it settles into her stomach hard.

She walks in, hearing her heels click on the marble. There’s something cold about having tiles in a bedroom, she wants to tell him, but presses her lips together. That day they hadn’t spoken.

Although… maybe that’s the problem.

Her glance dances across the huge bed, with its dark purple bedding, before she sits down on it.

Rio’s eyes seem disapproving as he comes to stand before her and she leans away from his touch. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Her eyes are daring. His adjust to match.

“Whatchu want?”

She doesn’t know how to say it and he looks mildly annoyed.

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t do it, darlin.”

She nearly giggles at the irony and then she does, high and loud. He smiles too, just at the sound, his brow creased.

“What’s funny?”

She can’t stop giggling to answer and then it doesn’t matter because he’s bent over her, burying her amusement in her throat with a harsh kiss that’s over as quick as it starts.

“Mami, you a mystery at the best of times.”

Again, it’s too amusingly ironic, but now he’s too close; the heat of his breath too near to let her laugh. She’s in a furnace when she’s with him.

Beth blinks up at him, just a few inches away, and suddenly feels safe to voice it.

“You never say anything.”

This throws him for a loop. He pulls back to look at her, considering; re-considering. Like he’s never seen her before.

“Get up.”

It’s an order, straight and gravelly, and it goes right between her legs.

Still, she doesn’t jump up. She holds his eyes for a second, two, then looks down and slowly rises from the bed.

Her eyes go back to his, her chin lifted.

He wants to make her regret her request; wants to put himself back in control, but she won’t let him. _She wants this_.

She knows what she wants. For once, she knows.

And it’s like he knows, too, because his smirk is impressed as he leans in. She thinks it’s a kiss, but his lips go to her ear instead as his hand travels to her back.

“Don’t move.”

Her zipper rings around the room and the thrill shoots its way into her veins, not helped by the way he ducks into her hair tenderly even as he yanks.

He’s rough as he pulls the dress from her and, hearing sequins pop and drop, Beth thanks her stars that she hadn’t been the one to pay for it.

He steps back and the expression on his face makes her remember: she’d worn a matching set of underwear. And, while it’s more practical than sexy, it _is_ black, with lacy edges, and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth before stepping back, nodding decisively.

“Take it off.”

Something in his eyes or voice overwhelms her and it makes her freeze up.

He clicks his tongue. “I wanna see you, c’mon.”

Her throat feels dry and her hands shaky as she reaches back to undo the clasp on her bra. She still manages to get it undone in a second, though, and Rio makes a sound of displeasure, immediately making her look up.

“Naw,” he shakes his head. “Slower.”

She obliges, suddenly aware of every part of her body as it moves; as she arches in slow motion and pulls the straps slowly away from her. She’s never done this before; has never been the highlight of the show, and she’d say she’s not doing it right, only Rio’s eyes are dark and focused on her every single motion, and she feels like she might just explode at the look in them.

Finally the bra drops to the floor between them and instantly Rio’s hands are cupping both her breasts, rough yet revering, and her breath stutters loudly.

His thumbs tease her nipples and the sound that comes from her throat is embarrassing.

Rio takes a breath then pushes closer.

“You ready for me, ma?”

She wants to shout yes, god yes, and dig her nails into his skin, but she has just enough sanity left to resist; to nod silently, like this isn’t as big of a deal as it is.

He retreats, clasping his hands behind his back. Her breasts feel cold and it’s all she can do not to yank him back to her.

“Sit down and spread your legs.”

She swallows then does it, spreading them tentatively at first then all the way, brazened by the fact that she’s still wearing her underwear.

Slowly – god, so slowly – he inches back towards her and just when he has to close the last step, he gets down to his knees. She clenches hard at the sight and his hands go to her hips, pulling down her panties with far more restraint than she wishes he has.

When they’re down, he puts his hands on her knees and gently pushes till she’s open even wider, and the blush spreads from her cheeks down to her toes.

His eyes appraise her and she adds it to the list of ways he’s looked at her that no one else ever has; that no one else ever could, she’s sure.

Then he bows, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, and it’s gentler than it has any right to be. He repeats it on her other leg before moving his kisses upwards and they grow in heat and speed, causing one of her hands to fist in the bedding as her other goes to his shoulder, bolstering.

He lifts her, angles her, just a little up towards him, and then his mouth is on her and she feels white hot everywhere; coherent thoughts ceasing. She exists only where he’s touching her; his hands digging into her skin with the same intensity that his tongue explores the depths of her.

Then she returns to her mind and it only makes it worse because she sees him there and gets so much wetter because this is _Rio_. He’s the hottest man she’s ever met by a long shot, and not just to her, but objectively and indisputably he is on another fucking stratosphere. _He doesn’t have a daughter, but god knows every woman that man knows wants to call him daddy_ , Annie had said, but he’s not with any other woman – he’s here with her, eating her out like he there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing.

He roughly pulls her even closer, making little broken sounds of pleasure like he’s enjoying his favourite meal, and she has to tell herself none of this is real or she’ll cease to exist.

He flattens his boiling hot tongue against her and Beth moans, keening up, and he presses her back down before adding two fingers and her eyes slip closed. The sensations are too much and she wishes she could keep them all forever, but god if he’s not rubbing her up just the right way, his fingers loud inside her sopping wet heat and she hears herself cry out as if from a distance.

He noses against her clit then starts paying special attention to it, alternating between rough and mercy, finding a ridiculous rhythm, and she doesn’t so much start coming as find herself suddenly right in the middle of it, jerking and moaning unintelligibly; digging her nails harshly into his shoulder as the rush fills up her head and rips apart her body.

She finds herself minutes later, laying down and finished, her body still quivering every few seconds. She wants to open her eyes but can’t and then Rio is on top of her, whispering into her ear.

“How you taste so fuckin good, ma?”

God. It’s too much.

He pulls back up off her, thankfully, and after a good few seconds she finally finds the strength to open her eyes again, which is when she realises he’s standing a step or two away from her, watching her, still entirely dressed.

She opens her mouth to tell him to undress because she’s laying here as open and naked as a human can possibly be and he’s standing there still all clad in black, but he shakes his head his head a little and she realises: she’d asked him to talk.

So she presses her lips back together, licking over them as a way to start putting herself together.

She takes several deep breaths then sits up, feeling insecure about their radically different states of undress, but he’s still watching her so she leans forward and loops her index finger into his belt. He sucks his lip into his mouth when she yanks him over.

She could undo his pants but no, not yet. Instead she moves both her hands up to his shirt, untucking it the way he normally wears them. Then she smooths her hands up and he takes the message, dropping his jacket to the floor and then loosening his tie.

So she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt and he helps – they meet in the middle; their eyes on one another’s. He slots his legs between her thighs and then nothing is slow and controlled anymore – her lips are on his firm chest and he shoves her down but she’s pulling him with her, clawing at this back, and he’s falling on top of her and then they’re kissing and it’s a furnace, god, it’s a furnace.

His lips in her neck, teeth pulling over her clavicle, and she can’t be quiet anymore, raw noises coming from deep within her throat as her hands jump down to his belt. Her frantic hands freeze when he hums encouragingly in her ear, almost as if deliberately sending heat rushing between her legs, and it’s when he’s mouthing at her breast that he grins up at her devilishly.

 _You wanted to hear me_ , it seems to say and god, how does she want him this much all over again?

“Keep goin, honey,” he says, rough, and she glares up at him even though she’s throbbing, desperate for him.

And his eyes glint with something dangerous a second before a finger slips between her slick folds and she keens, moaning.

He chuckles breathily.

“You drippin for _me_ , Elizabeth?”

He inserts a second and she pulls her lip into her mouth, determined not to respond, not to give him anything. But then she clenches and they both come undone.

“I want you to do that around me,” he growls, all teasing gone, and it’s all she can do not to sob as she works at his belt again and he helps and in seconds he’s naked and she can’t help the sigh of relief when he springs free because _god_ she wants him inside her.

Then his hand wraps into her hair, tight, jerking, and she hisses.

He smirks. “That hurt?”

Yes.

She glares. “No.”

He smiles slow, just like when she’d said she didn’t trust him.

“You want me?”

Her gaze dances over his. She swallows then nods.

His grip gets tighter.

“Then say it, darlin. Your turn; I wanna hear it, c’mon.” She hesitates and he presses close to her, pushes into her stomach, and her high whimper is too much for them both; his words are a snarl in her hear. “Say you want me.”

“Please, god, I want you,” she moans, desperate; soaking and clenching around nothing, “Rio, I want you.”

And she expects his gaze to be triumphant but it’s broken, blown, all the way gone, and then he’s inside her and fuck, she’s not better off. Her back arches as her eyes fall closed and then his tongue is in her mouth and he’s pushing deeper into her and she moans against his teeth, and it could be incoherent or his name, she can’t be sure.

She can’t be sure of anything except his thick length inside her; how she feels all filled up and stretched out as far as she can go. Then Rio lifts her thigh up over his hip and a groan chokes in her throat, which is where his lips go next as he pulls her arm up over her head, grasping her hand in his and finding a rhythm that sets her skin alight. She feels his ring scrape over her pinky finger as grinds into her before pulling out and pushing all the way back in, then doing it all over again. She clenches, hard, and the noise he makes is so carnal that it only causes it to happen again.

“Fuck, mami, _fuck_ ,” he chides and she wants to tell him it’s ok, she’s so close, but just like that it’s too late.

Her nails dig deep into his ass as her body lifts and shakes, her other hand clenching around his. She’s already not in control and then he bites into her lips hard; takes her nipples roughly between his teeth, and her orgasm peaks so fast she thinks she may black out but then his thrusts change and his body goes rigid and she decides to return the favour, gripping one of his balls as she rides through her after-shocks. If the constant stream of cursing – in English and Spanish – is anything to go by, he likes it, and there’s a smug smile on her face even though she’s not in any better of a state.

By the time they both come down, she feels raw and sore all over, particularly where he’d been holding her – her hand lacks circulation and her hip’s aching.

She lets her body relax, go limp, and by the time Rio comes to, she realises she likes him on top of her. She’d always wanted Dean off as fast as possible, but she’s addicted to the lines of Rio’s body; the way they meet and fit hers in the strangest and best way. She wants it forever.

He kisses her lightly before collapsing on her with an exhale.

“You ain’t good for my self-control, mami.”

And she wants to blush but forces herself to remain cool, pushing at his shoulder as she keeps an even tone.

“You’re not exactly blameless.”

And finally he relents, rolling off her, then watching as she sits up.

She’s still too scared to stand – her legs don’t feel capable of holding up a paper bag at the moment – but she looks down at herself, seeing his come on her thighs, and it’s absurd how hot she feels again.

And then she feels his fingers on her, pinching at her ass, and she slaps it away, mostly because she’s blushing too deep.

“So you into dirty talk, huh?”

“We’re not talking about that,” she stresses, turning to glare at him.

“Oh, we aren’t?”

And now he sits up too and he pulls her exactly how he wants her – with terrifying ease – which is angled a little towards him.

Then he takes one of her breasts into his hand with a filthy smirk.

“What if I tell you how much I love these, hmm?” He squeezes before she can answer, agitating her nipple with his thumb. “What if I told you everythin I’ve imagined doin with em?”

And she flushes, completely speechless for a second, before forcing herself to push him off her.

“Maybe next time.”

* * *

**Beth's underwear:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if this wasn't that good, I'm so sick and in bed and still just wanted to get the chapter up for you guys today 🙈
> 
> Only one more chapter till the gala night is (finally) over!


	7. Ain’t So Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys never fail to make a girl grin from ear to ear (even while sick). Thank you so much for all the feedback on the previous chapter and for all your well wishes xx

There’s a fluffy white bathrobe behind the bathroom door.

It’s Beth’s favourite thing in this outrageously expensive bathroom the size of an apartment, simply because it’s something she can wear. She doesn’t know how much clothing Rio actually keeps here and she doubts any of it is going to fit her.

So, after cleaning up and peeing, she slips into the robe, does one last makeup check, then returns to the bedroom.

Rio’s propped up on two fluffy white pillows. The purple duvet has been pushed down and his middle is haphazardly covered with the white sheet, his miles of perfectly tanned skin all on display.

She’s approaching the bed when he shakes his head.

“Uh uh.”

She frowns. “What?”

“Naw. Take that off.”

And then she realises he means the bathrobe and _oh my god._

“Rio.”

“You ain’t sleepin next to me wearin that,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I wanna see you.”

And she’s not sure whether to point out how bossy that is or blush.

Not that she has much of a choice – the blush rises anyway, but she tries to hide it with an eye roll as she continues towards the bed.

“I don’t have clothing here.”

“Yea and I like you naked, so what’s the problem?”

And now there’s no hiding the blush, so she nibbles at her lip thoughtfully before pulling back the sheet. As he watches curiously, she sits down, undoes the robe, then quickly slides underneath.

Rio looks incredibly displeased. Eventually he shifts closer and she eyes him, suspicious.

“You feel that?” She frowns questioningly and he continues: “Think the air just turned up. You gonna be too hot, mami, lemme help.”

And just like that, the sheet is gone and she wants to glare, but the way his eyes take in her body stop her short.

Then he touches her, his firm hand traversing her thighs reverently before his lips go to her stomach. It’s more of a touch than a kiss, his hot mouth softly exploring then trailing up till he’s at her neck and Beth’s eyes flutter, her breath short.

Then his hand trails further up too and she catches it, groaning.

“You do know there’s a limit to how many times a woman can come in one night?”

His smile is devious. “Yea? You know yours?”

And, well…

“No.”

“You wanna?” And it’s that filthy smirk again, the one that does things inside her, but that she can’t let win.

So she shoves him by the chest and he lets her, his laugh light as he falls onto his back.

“Another one for next time, huh?” he cocks his brow and _oh god, why had she said that._

“Can you turn off the light?” she asks, trying to sound irritable. “It’s late.”

“Damn, ma, touchy,” he laughs, but he does turn off the lights. (There’s a switch right at his head, because of course there is.)

The room darkens considerably but not completely, a bit of light coming in from the street and a slight glow coming from a few light switches and the bathroom doorway. Beth lies on her back, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling and feeling Rio’s gaze on her as she thinks about the night. So much had happened. She’d learnt so much.

Though still not anywhere near enough, she feels, about the man she’s currently quite literally in bed with. She seems to think she never will.

“You wrong.”

Frowning, she turns her head to him. “About what?”

Had she said that aloud??

He seems amused.

“Whatever you thinkin up there,” he says, flitting a finger over her temple.

“What if I was thinking that I should definitely sleep naked?”

He scoffs. “Oh, baby, you know I know you better than that.”

 _And I don’t know you at all_ , she thinks but doesn’t say.

“Whatever,” she mutters, making to turn around, but he stops her, pulling her back.

“What’s wrong, mami?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothin,” he repeats, his eyes cutting.

And something like resentment rises to the surface of the myriad of emotions she’s feeling. _Something like_ , because there’s so much else, too – that’s just the easiest one to name.

But why is it that she has to tell him everything and he never deigns to tell her anything? Why should he get to perceive her fears and insecurities when she’s in bed with an enigma? When she’d made herself so vulnerable on that terrace and he hadn’t given her an inch?

“Know what I keep thinkin about?” he asks suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts.

Turning to look at him, she shakes her head.

“How bad that shrimp cocktail was.”

And she can’t help it, she bursts into giggles.

“It was _so bad_!”

“You ain't allowed to serve food that bad when you that rich,” he points out, vehement.

She laughs more, unable to argue, and _god how does he do it_?

Because the resentment dies with her laughter – sooner, maybe – and suddenly she wants to tell him.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her, like she owes him a look inside her mind. And god knows that isn’t true – he knows so much more about her than he’s ever earned – but she opens up anyway, because she still so desperately wants off the rollercoaster.

“What you said earlier, in the car, it bothered me.” He cocks a brow and she elaborates: “About me looking and sounding like them; _being them,_ minus the snake parts.”

Plus: _They your people_ ; _Guess your people’d call it a nest egg._ The isolation of him from her.

Rio opens his mouth to speak but she shakes her head. “I get it, I do. I'm a white woman from the suburbs. My privilege is legion. And when I was young, trust me, those people were everything I wanted; what every fourteen-year-old who only wants to escape wanted: money, contacts, freedom.”

He stares at her for a long moment that she leaves hanging as she remembers sitting outside her mother’s bedroom door, her head on her knees as she tried to figure out how she could mould her life into anything but what it was.

“What’d you wanna escape from?”

She meets his eyes then immediately looks away again, clearing her throat.

No, not that. That’s too much. This man she knows nothing about is not allowed to know _that_ part of her.

“…It’s not important,” she says. “Because now when I look at them, all I feel is disgust. So the thought of you seeing them when you look at me, I just…”

She struggles to finish; struggles to express the horror. 

Struggles to convey that if she feels repulsed, what must he feel? He, who keeps putting a wall up between them, with her on their side.

Beth opens her mouth to speak, to continue, despite having no idea what she’ll say, but then he rises up, leaning onto his elbow to look down at her.

“You overthinkin this, ma.”

She swallows, not meeting his gaze. “I’m aware.”

But she can’t help how she feels, doesn’t he get that? Doesn’t he understand that she could’ve so easily been one of those WASPs, and it bothers her right down to her core? She could’ve been sitting at that table, judging the brown man for having the audacity to be in the room.

His fingers trail down her neck but she pushes them off and, out of the corner of her eye, she sees his smirk.

“Suddenly you give a shit what I think?”

And, god, what is she supposed to say to that? That she’s always thought more of his opinion than she ever should’ve?

“I don’t know, ok? I don’t know why it matters, but it does. Please can we just go to sleep now?”

“You think I’d fuck one of them ignorant bitches?”

And that makes her eyes snap to his; makes the breath leave her lungs.

“No.”

She can’t imagine him being interested in any one of them, not for a second.

He smirks. “Then there’s your answer. Ain’t so complicated, is it?”

And she’s still staring at him in shock but he seems entirely unbothered, cavalierly settling back into his supine position.

“Your penis is my endorsement?”

His smirk widens and he shrugs. “Guess so.”

“That’s gross,” she scoffs. “And kind of offensive.”

“Whatchu want, a medal?”

He looks at her, brow raised, and she tries to mimic _his_ expression from that night.

“Yeah, maybe I do.”

“A’ight,” he says easily, smile serene, “I’ll hit up the block and let em know Elizabeth Boland wants a medal for not bein racist.”

Giggling, she shoves at him. “Shut up!”

“But that I don’t support it ‘cuz she tryna silence my voice.”

And then they’re both laughing and it turns into kissing so quickly, it’s like breathing, his hands roaming her chest then pulling her onto him.

It’s not really sexual, though, she thinks he just likes her on top of him, which sends a deep unexplainable sense of elation thrumming throughout her body, all the way to her toes.  
  
Eventually she pulls away and his eyes slide open lazily, like he’s all caught up in her, and the thrum is growing stronger.

She notices, with an uncontainable smirk, how red his mouth is.

“Your lips are swollen.”

He stretches his arms out above his head.

“You a good kisser.”

And he must notice her near-squirm because he raises a brow.

“What? Nobody ever tell you that?”

She bites her lip into her mouth. Has anyone? Had Dean?

Not unless…

She clears her throat. “Not without an agenda.”

He clicks his tongue, unimpressed, then pulls her back down to him forcefully.

But she pulls back from the kiss after just a few seconds, too many thoughts whirling in her mind.

She finds herself seeking temporary solace in the crook of his neck and doesn’t think too much of it till he shifts uncomfortably, almost involuntarily, and she hesitates, taking one last second to revel in his scent.

Then she pulls away and off him, settling back in her spot. And it makes her wonder: how close is she allowed to get to him? And not just in tearing down that icy shell he always has up between him and the world, but also how much is smart.

It’s a metaphor, really – on top of him is fine, but burrowed into his neck is too close.

 _Fuck being smart_ , she’d thought, but what they have in here and what they have out there is so different; she has no idea how to reconcile them. Maybe that’s why he finds it better if he keeps his guard up, if he doesn’t let her _too_ close. Then he has nothing to reconcile.

And that makes so much sense in her head, but her hand is lifting up, her eyes focused on his red lips.

She reaches out but hovers, embarrassed, when his puzzled eyes follow the movement.

And god, what is she doing? She can’t just touch him like that, can she?

He’d just practically squirmed at the accidental moment of closeness she’d created.

Because there’s sex and then there’s intimacy, and they’ve never let the two mix. It’s a different kind of dangerous to anything else they’ve done; _everything_ else they’ve done.

If their relationship is normally a tug of war then this is walking a tightrope and, _oh_ , she’s so out of balance. But… hadn’t she been the one worrying that the tugging would never end? And when she’d called him out; asked for more – _You never say anything_ – he hadn’t argued or pushed back. He’d gone with it, listened to her; given her what she wanted. And on the terrace, even though he hadn’t said anything, _something_ had changed. Something that had led them directly here, she thinks, but doubts she could ever prove.

He never does anything on her terms, but she can lead. Maybe – maybe – it’s not a tightrope but a cliff, and she has to jump first.

So she lets her hand reach out the rest of the way, her fingers settling on his lips like they belong.

They swipe lightly then whisper across; slow-dancing to the tune of the creases and the soft plumpness. It’s a new kind of heaven that makes her question why she hasn’t done it before.

Her touch is so light that Rio shivers and his tongue darts out for a second, meeting two of her fingers, and it makes their eyes meet.

And the look she finds there, god, it’s indescribable – no words, there are no words. Yet she knows what it means. _Nobody’s ever told me I’m a good kisser and nobody’s ever touched you like this_.

She doesn’t say it aloud but it doesn’t matter, not really. They both know it.

And Beth doesn't know when she falls asleep, only that it's with her palm on his throat and her fingers splayed over his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So curious to hear what you thought - plus, what you think the morning after is going to be like 👀👀
> 
> P.S. The name of this chapter tickles me because, like, is there anything about them that ~isn't~ complicated? 🙈


	8. A Good Mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this is a very long chapter. I tried to split it, but there was just nowhere good because I don't consider a Brio-less chapter to be a chapter. I hope it doesn't feel too whackily un-paced!

Often, when Beth wakes, there’s an itemised list on her lips.

Sometimes it’s the day’s chores or errands; sometimes it’s the ingredients of a recipe; sometimes it’s something she has to remind the kids about; sometimes it’s just the next few things she has to do before going to wake everyone and cook breakfast.

She likes it, it gets her prepared for the day. She has four children, after all. Sleeping in is a strange luxurious concept she struggles to wrap her head around, even these days when she doesn’t have the kids.

Now, though, she wakes with nothing.

For a whole minute, Beth Boland thinks about nothing.

Then, suddenly, she realises she’s smiling and moves her fingers to her lips to feel it, stunned.

After a minute she shifts over, getting an eyeful of Rio.

He’s facing her, one of his arms sprawled out between them and the other tucked beneath his pillow – which is being manhandled into a ball that his head perches atop.

All his features are soft, relaxed, and she can barely breathe. She’s never seen him like this. Even the fierce bird on his throat seems at peace.

Her eyes lower to find his entire ass on display. His crotch is only barely covered by the sheet, which is knotted around his leg like he’d irritatedly tried kicking it off altogether but had abandoned the project as sleep had stolen him back.

Beth’s smiling even wider.

She wants to reach out and touch him – his neck or his arm, maybe – but she doesn’t want to disturb him. If anything, she wants to watch him – keep him – like this forever.

But then the list comes.

First things first, she has to check on the kids.

Giving Rio one last look, she slides out of bed slowly and quietly. The bathrobe is where she’d left it and she pulls it on before heading to the bathroom. She pees, then brushes her teeth – with his toothbrush, because there’s only one, and both those things give her a stupid thrill that she refuses to think a second longer about – then comes back in to make a beeline for his bedside table.

Atop there are keys, some gum, his gun and two phones.

She frowns at the phones (god, how far away from sanity has she come that _that’s_ what trips her up?) then grabs both. Only the one needs a passcode, so she leaves it and takes the other, tiptoeing out of the room and closing the door behind her. Her own phone is somewhere downstairs – Rio had plugged it in to play music – and she honestly has no idea how to find the staircase again.

So she dials her house number as she traverses the passage, making sure to note her every twist and turn.

Kenny picks up after three rings.

“Hey, you.”

“Want me to get aunty Annie?” he asks, and she has to think about it for a second.

“No.” She presses open a door and nearly trips over her own feet when she takes it in. “Um, is everything ok? What’s she doing?”

“Making breakfast,” Kenny informs her. “She said we have too much cereal and that Emma’s weird for eating it with orange juice.”

She smiles a little. Of course Annie doesn’t remember being the one to teach Emma that – she’d wanted to experiment and had immediately spat it out with Beth’s daughter watching. Emma had immediately latched on.

“Did you sleep ok?”

“Uh huh… Mom, where are you?”

“Oh.” She looks around. “Um, I’m just at a friend’s house. They party went really late, so I slept over.”

“Was it a good party?”

“It was.”

“Are you gonna bring us cake?”

“Oh, honey, there wasn’t any cake." There'd barely been any _food._ "But I’ll tell you what – if you keep being good for aunty Annie, I’ll get you some cake on the way back home, ok?”

“Ok!”

“Ok. Tell your sisters and brothers that I love them and tell aunty Annie I’ll be home soon.”

“Ok, bye, Mom.”

“I love you,” she says, but he’s hung up by the last word.

She shakes her head in amusement then properly looks around the room she’s landed in.

It’s some sort of playroom, but it’s filled with more activities than any human being could play even if they were in here all day every day.

She opens cupboards and isn’t surprised at all to have her suspicions confirmed – they’re filled to the gills with boardgames, as well as foosball balls, pool cues, table tennis bats and every other bit of paraphernalia needed for all the equipment in the room.

None of it looks used, either, except for the gaming station in the corner of the ginormous room.

She notes that one of the keyboards has a skin on it, with the name _Marcus_ on the top in fire-engine red.

Beth closes the cupboards back up, takes one last look around then exits the room.

She winds back down the passage then pushes the bedroom door back open as quietly as possible.

But Rio’s awake, barely, blinking at her from where he’s now sprawled on his stomach. Of their own accord, her eyes take in the rippling muscles of his back; the tattoos.

He smiles and it’s bright yet still somehow lascivious.

“Mornin.”

She clears her throat, annoyed with how easily he can affect her.

“Hey.” She steps closer then holds up his phone. “Checked on the kids.”

He nods surprisingly easily – she would’ve expected an admonishment or at least a demand that she ask permission next time – and she re-places his phone.

“They still alive?”

“ _Alive_?”

“Your sister’s crazy, man,” he laughs, and she does too.

“True, but… she’s actually a surprisingly good babysitter.”

He makes a sound of acknowledgement as he twists over then sits up. She feels somehow that he’s done it to make space for her to sit, so she does.

“You sleep good?”

And she opens her mouth, but stops short when he moves closer, leaning into her space. He gently tugs at her hair almost thoughtlessly then meets her eyes expectantly. She remembers she’s supposed to say something.

“Um. Y-yeah.”

“Cool.”

There’s a look in his eyes and it’s burning her up alive.

“The blackout shades are great – they’re automatic, right? I need to get ones like them,” she says, suddenly unable to stop herself from yammering.

He smirks.

“You gonna kiss me or what?”

And surely he must hear the way her heart thumps, loud and almost painful?

She’s entirely tongue-tied, trying to choke out a response, when he darts forward and takes her lips with his.

She’s not proud of the noise she makes at how warm his lips are on her cold ones; at how perfect his mouth is on hers. (God, he doesn’t even have morning breath. How is he possible?) His tongue is languorous but deceptively so; heat prickles up into her neck at the determined way he kisses her, dipping her with a domineering hand on her jaw.

Eventually she has to pull herself away – _has to_ , or she’ll unravel.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

He looks at her for a moment, his tongue passing slowly over his bottom lip.

“That an invitation?”

And it wasn't but, god help her, she nods.

But then he looks so pleased, so damn impressed, that she can’t help feeling proud of herself.

He jerks his chin up.

“Be right there.”

And maybe it’s the pride or the way he’s looking at her – or all of it; all of it – but Beth stands up, walks toward the bathroom and then, right at door, drops her bathrobe. 

* * *

A breath stutters in her throat as she meets his thrust.

“Rio,” she whispers, splitting his name in half, like two complete sentences.

Her breaths are broken, shameless, and loud enough to drown out the shower. Or maybe that’s their bodies meeting, over and over, at a pace so lightning quick she’s beginning to see stars.

His breaths are just as heavy as he pivots into her then draws back out, rapid and –

“ _Oh_ ,” she groans, “oh, o-ohhhh god.”

Her nails sink into his back and his fingers dig deeper into her ass as his free hand pulls her leg higher onto his hip. It goes to her breast and it’s as he’s thumbing her nipple, sucking her tongue into his mouth, that she comes.

She clenches around him as her body shakes and he groans, bowing to bite down on her breast, and she sobs her orgasm into his neck. She sucks his ear into her mouth then nibbles and he rams into her extra hard, punishing, and she whimpers as she pulls her nails through his short hair and down into his neck then reaches for his balls with her free hand.

“Come in me, Rio,” she mutters, breathy. “Do it, come inside me.”

He goes rigid, cursing. She can feel the muscles in his stomach tighten against her and she’s smiling when she feels him release inside her, long and hard, his body shaking a little too.

When he’s done, he steps back almost reflexively, pulling out and letting her leg drop, but she tugs him back and with a mumbled “Yea”, he presses close to her and kisses her deep.

Her arms wrap around his neck and he pushes her wet hair away, encasing her face between his huge hands. Then they drop, going down over the sides of her body – down over her breasts that are being pelted with errant water ricocheting from his head, then her waist and hips; her ass. They settle there before he pulls away slowly to look down at her.

He blinks the water from his eyelashes and Beth thinks, not for the first time, that he’s the most gorgeous man she’s ever laid eyes on.

He draws his thumb over her bottom lip, not altogether gentle, and there’s more than a little anger in his eyes.

“What you do to me ain’t right, Elizabeth.”

She blinks up at him, genuinely at a loss for words. She feels like he’s the only one _doing_ anything, right or not. He’s the seducer. Surely he must know that? All she does is react.

There are drops of water on her top lip and she makes to lick them off but as soon as her tongue leaves her mouth, he darts back down, taking it into his mouth, and the kiss is harsh, bruising, before he steps right out of the shower like he was never there.

She leans against the wall with her eyes closed, her chest heaving, as she replays it all again.

* * *

Her neck is blotchy.

Hell, her entire chest is. The heat from the water has faded away, leaving red ovals in the shape of Rio’s mouth all over her. She studies them in the mirror, lips quirked, before pulling the robe over them; tucking herself into it securely before tying it closed.

She presses her damp hair behind her ears then, satisfied, exits the bathroom.

Rio’s not there.

She frowns then pads out into the passage and hears sounds coming from downstairs.

Nibbling at her lip, she follows the sounds, which eventually lead her to the staircase. She descends it with hesitance, not knowing what she’ll find at the bottom.

And she does stop dead when she reaches the last step.

Rio’s cooking. He’s fully dressed – a dark green shirt pulled over a black t-shirt, plus jeans – standing in front of a griddle.

She stands frozen for a whole five seconds before finally pushing herself forward.

He flips a pancake onto a plate then, turning to place it down, he spots her.

“Sorry,” he pulls a face, “only got kid shit.”

She realises he means the food, which is frankly hilarious, considering it’s the least strange part of this entire picture.

But it does remind her of the playroom she’d seen earlier, and she approaches curiously.

“How is it you have the world’s nicest and also most spoiled kid?”

She’s wary he’ll take it as an insult but he just shrugs, turning to flip another pancake.

“Discipline and a bit o’ luck. Only buyin him the shit he never actually asked for. Syrup, ice cream or both?”

Sitting, she looks at the options in front of her.

“Syrup.”

And she watches as he stacks a plate with pancakes and drizzles some syrup over it then slides it over to her. He scoops ice cream – obviously – onto his own before turning off the griddle and heading to the espresso machine.

She eats as it loudly spurts out coffee and soon enough he places the cup down next to her plate.

Beth thanks him then watches as he leans against the counter behind him and eats. It’s not lost on her that he could sit beside her but that he’s choosing, instead, to keep the island between them.

It’s yet another metaphor, she thinks, for their relationship, and suddenly she’s not really that hungry anymore.

She picks up her coffee and sips at it as a million questions rush through her mind concurrently with memories of the past 24 hours.

She remembers her question from last night: _W_ _ho's the real Rio? The one they know, the one I know or someone different altogether?_

But even the one she knows is like five different people – he gives her whiplash. One minute he’s tenderly playing with her hair and the next he’s fucking her in his shower then glowering down at her like she’s the instigator of any of this.

And then he’s flipping her pancakes and drizzling syrup over them, like none of the rest had happened.

_Who's the real Rio? The one they know, the one I know or someone different altogether?_

And the funniest part is that she isn’t even sure she _knows_ any version of him. If he’s five different people, she has yet to be properly introduced to even one.

“Can I ask you a question?”

His back had been to her as he placed his empty plate in the sink, but now he turns to stare at her straight on, sizing her up, likely trying to figure out what it could be.

Then he rolls his shoulders back.

“I'm in a good mood.”

 _Because of me?_ she's tempted to pry, but doesn't want to divert.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

His eyes tell her it's about the last thing he ever would've expected to drop from her lips and he blinks a few times before looking away, returning with a look of bemusement.

“Why you askin?”

She shrugs _._ “Because I've never asked before.”

And he watches her for a long moment, eyes indecipherable, before answering.

“I ain't no cheater, mami.”

There's a quick ping inside of her before her mind catches up and she realises he's referring to being faithful to the potential girlfriend, not her.

“That's what all men say,” she points out, and can't seem to keep the acrid tone out of her voice.

He looks at her and it's like he's taking the puzzle pieces of her apart and turning each one around to inspect. She feels interrogated and violated but she can't look away.

“That what carman did to you?”

She doesn't respond, doesn't want to say words; doesn't want to acknowledge it.

They’ve gone off the deep end now and this was supposed to be about _him_ , not her. But he’ll never give an inch without taking a mile, and this is her remittance.

It seems too steep of a price, though. For some reason just the thought of answering in the affirmative makes her feel shame; makes her feel like admitting defeat. A warning: _I'm not capable of being enough._

But even though he knows the answer, he still waits, waits for her to show him the picture on the box.

Slowly, so slowly, she nods just the tiniest bit; really, it's more an incline of her chin.

He looks away and she swears she sees fury swell with the rise of his Adam's apple. There's tension in his shoulders and a tick in his jaw as he exhales through his nose.

“Shoulda killed that fuckin moron.”

She swallows, silent. She doesn't know what to say. Her eyes go down to her breakfast plate and she's filled with indescribable melancholy.

She hates that Dean can still make her feel this way. She thought divorce would give her a clean slate, but she only feels more tarnished. Like a child had used all the crayons in the box to colour over the puzzle's true picture. She has baggage, now. She never wanted to be the sort of person who had baggage, insurmountable baggage, but now she is. She hadn't had a choice.

“I woulda told you if there was someone else,” Rio's voice comes, quiet, tugging her from the thick shroud of hopelessness.

She looks back up to meet his eyes.

They're as sincere as she's ever seen them, short of when they're having sex.

_But..._

“What about the girl?”

_Pill Beth._

His brows crease.

“What girl?”

She clears her throat, feeling a little guilty and a lot stupid. It definitely wasn't clever to reveal that she'd been watching him, but now it's too late.

“The girl you hugged when I dropped off that first pill car. It looked... intimate.”

Realisation is quickly followed by reluctant amusement.

“'Course you was watchin.”

“Yeah, who would've thought that patronisingly telling me to _stay in my lane_ wouldn't work well?”

He chuckles then looks thoughtful.

She doesn't let herself hope for an actual answer, but then he speaks.

“She used to be a buyer; we messed around. Then she found herself another dealer. Wanted to make sure she knew I was grateful she was coming back on board.”

“On board?”

He smirks. “Not my dick, honey.”

There’s a sexy lilt to the way he says it, the endearment rolling off his tongue like gravel dripping in… well, _honey_.

Beth nibbles on her lip thoughtfully, unsure what to do with this forthcoming of an answer. Drawing information from Rio usually makes drawing blood from a rock seem easy. She still doesn’t know much more about his ex-wife than her name.

He really is in a good mood. She'd be crazy not to take advantage of it.

She's scrabbling for another question, any one of approximately three million she's had since meeting him, when he speaks.

“How you expect me to see other women when you already such a handful, huh?”

She forces herself not to blanch at the insult, knowing he's teasing in the hopes of getting a reaction.

She decides to go for the throat instead.

“Is that what we're doing? _Seeing_ each other?”

It does visibly catch him off guard, which is satisfying, but he recovers annoyingly fast.

“Thought you weren't into labels?”

She glares. “Do you keep a record of everything I say so you can use it against me later?”

Amused, he taps his temple. “Yeah, it’s all up here.”

Her eyes follow his action.

“Really? What else do you have up there?”

God, what she’d do to glimpse even half of it.

“Too much, trust me.”

Pouting a little, she puts on her most persuasive voice.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Tempting… but I always know what you thinkin about, darlin.”

She raises a brow. With a smirk, he pops a finger then curls it toward himself.

Beth scoffs. “God, the cockiness. Where do you get it all; is there an Ego R Us?”

He shrugs. “My abuela always said if you don't believe in yourself, nobody else will.”

It sobers the moment, at least for her. It’s so rare for him to mention anyone real in his life. She’d only found out about his sisters because he’d been talking to Marcus about them.

“…Is she still alive?”

“Naw.”

She sighs. “Yeah, mine either.”

“We too old for that,” he nods.

“Are we?”

“What's that mean?”

“How old _are_ you?”

“37.”

The shock must be all over her features. It seems to amuse him.

“What about you?”

She hesitates, then: “43.”

“Oh so, what? You was worried about an age gap?”

He steps closer, smirking fully, and she rolls her eyes a little.

“You look _a lot_ younger.”

God, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d said 28.

“Then you disappointed? Wanted a toyboy, ma?”

She scoffs, genuinely amused by the concept: “If anyone's the toy in this relationship, it's not you.”

His brow pops again as he keeps advancing.

“You ain't havin fun?”

She rolls her eyes.

“It's not about fun, it's about power. And I don't have it.”

“Don't you?”

“Why do you do that?” she bites out, watching him round the island towards her.

“What?” he frowns mock-innocently, his footsteps measured.

“Ask questions that don't have answers.”

He smiles, slow and devious, as he gets within arm’s reach.

“If somethin don't exist then you gotta create it, baby, that's how it works. Make it up; make it good.”

 _Counterfeit it_ , she wants to say.

“Don't call me baby.”

“Whatchu want me to call you then, sweetheart? Huh, _Elizabeth_?”

She glares and he's amused at first before realising he's taken it a step too far, looking just the tiniest bit remorseful, but she doesn’t let up.

“ _How much of an asshole would I be if_...”

“You sayin I'm being an asshole?”

He’s right next to her now, staring down at her.

“You're always being an asshole,” she points out, her chin up.

His smile is so pleased, like she'd complimented him.

“You make it too easy.”

She scoffs. “Oh, please. You do _not_ get to blame me.”

“What can I say, you bring out the best in me,” he smirks meanly, and her glare only intensifies.

She hates how much she wants to kiss him.

She’s considering standing to do just that when his phone goes off.

Rio checks it lightning quick, like he already knew what the message would say.

“I gotta go.”

“Oh. Um, ok, I can be ready in a minute.”

“Naw. You stay, relax; take a bath or sum’n. I’ll send a car for you in an hour. A’ight?”

She stares, not quite sure what to say.

Then: “…Ok.”

He nods decisively then spins on his heel and pulls his phone back out as he takes long strides towards the front door.

“And don’t you dare touch them dishes. Got someone comin later.”

* * *

“You did the dishes, didn’t you?” Annie groans from her spot on the sofa.

“I didn’t, actually!” Beth says triumphantly. “I thought the cleaner might be peeved if I did their job for them. But I packed them all neatly in the sink.”

Annie rolls her eyes but Ruby leans forward.

“So then what did you do?”

Beth shrugs slowly, still kind of in disbelief with herself.

“I… had a bath.”

“ _What_?” Annie questions, eyes wide. “Mid-morning?? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

“He has this insane tub that has a massager and it lets you set the temperature–”

“Of course he does,” Annie scoffs, giddy. “You look at him and you’re like ‘This guy definitely loves a soak’, right?”

Which sends them all into giggles, until Ruby cocks her head.

“And then he, what, got you an Uber? Or does he have a _butler_ ,too?” she asks, mocking, but Annie shakes her head.

“Uh huh. Not just any Uber. Homegirl rolled up in a _Tesla_.”

“Whaaat?” Ruby’s head whips to her. “He got you an Uber Lux? For a 45-minute drive??”

“It’s not a big deal,” Beth lies.

“Uh huh. Sister gave him that good-good.”

“Shut up!” she shoves her sister.

“Ok, but now you have to tell us,” Ruby points out.

“That is _not_ happening.”

“That is absolutely happening,” Annie scoffs, vehement. “And with details.”

“ _No_.”

“Fine, then I’ll just keep asking questions till you blush an answer out, you selfish pasty bitch.”

Beth gasps. “How am I selfish?! Ruby,” she pleads for help, but her friend shakes her head.

“Nope, uh uh; I'm on her side. I didn’t get any details last time and this time I want all the juicy info.”

“I mean, obviously it was good. That man looks like he knows his way _all_ _around_ the anatomy and then twice on Sundays,” Annie points out. “But give us _something_! Did he go down on you?”

Feeling the blush rise, Beth exclaims: “God, fine! Yes.”

“…After you did?”

“No.”

“Before?”

Beth frowns, realising. “No.”

“Wait, he gave and didn’t expect in return?”

“I guess not.”

“Marry him,” Annie throws up her hands.

“How was it, though?” Ruby wonders.

She’d had less than satisfactory experiences with past boyfriends in that arena.

Sighing, Beth lets her head fall back.

“It was… incredible.”

She can almost feel his light stubble against her thighs again.

 _How you taste so fuckin good, ma?_ she remembers, and almost dies all over again.

“Double marry him!” Annie’s voice rings out. “Ugh, I’m so jealous. You get to have this, like, torrid sexual awakening with Mr Tie Me Up Tie Me Down. I want a sexual awakening. Well. Another. Another another.”

Beth brings her head forward with a smile and an eye roll – her sister’s absurdity will never cease to amaze her – but it drops right off her face when she sees Ruby’s expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“It’s just… what with all the talk about marriage–”

“Oh god, here we go,” Annie rolls her eyes.

“What is this… _thing_ between you two?”

“It’s not a thing,” Beth hedges.

“Really? Because it kinda sounds like one.”

“It just… happened.”

“Yeah, you didn’t see her dress. It _screamed_ ‘Bang me all night long’.”

“I’m going to _bang_ your head in,” Beth glares.

“Ooh, keep the dirty talk for gangfriend. Or is it officially _bang_ friend now?”

“I will literally murder you.”

“What, are you gonna hire your bangfriend to do it?”

“Ruby!”

She holds up her hands. “I still wanna talk about whether there’s any _brain_ involved in the banging.”

And just like that the mood dips – Beth’s gaze going to her lap as Annie sighs heavily.

“God, Ruby, you are an extreme party pooper. They should give you a show, it could come on right after Extreme Couponing.”

“I'm not trying to poop on anything! I'm just saying a little bit of defining might not be a bad thing. I mean, what is this? Is it just stupid hot impulsive sex? You know, the lure of the forbidden fruit; danger and intrigue? Or are you actually catching feelings?”

Which is… fair. It’s a fair question, and Beth has no idea how to answer it.

“I don't know,” she admits. “It'd make it all a lot easier if I did.”

“Or harder, depending on what the answer is,” Ruby says, her gaze solid. “Maybe that's why you’re too scared to think about it and find one.”

Beth stares back, speechless; brought back down to reality by her best friend, as usual. Then she looks away, the back of her neck burning.

“Okaaaay, party officially pooped, thanks, Ruby! How much do we owe you?”

“Look, we've been over this: Our girl isn't some side chick!”

Now, finally, Beth knows what to say.

“He isn’t seeing anyone else,” she says quietly.

“You asked?” Annie asks, aghast.

“Yeah.”

“And he said no??”

“Yeah. Actually, he seemed offended that I would assume he's seeing anyone else.”

“Holy shit.”

“He could’ve been lying,” Ruby points out.

“He wasn’t lying.”

“So now you know whenever he’s lying?”

 _If only_.

“No,” she shakes her head. “But he wasn’t lying.”

Ruby looks at her strangely and Beth sighs.

“I don’t know, ok? I don’t know what this is or where it’s going. I don’t know what I want or what he wants and _yes_ , I know exactly how stupid it all is. But I also know that I woke up this morning happy. Literally smiling,” she rolls her eyes at herself, pressing fingers into her eye sockets. “And I don’t remember the last time that’s happened. I don’t remember if that’s _ever_ happened.”

There’s a few seconds of silence in the room after her speech.

Carefully Beth pries her fingers off then looks back up at them, drawing a long breath.

“It's a mess and I'm trying to figure out how to deal with it. Now can we please talk about something else? _Not_ related to men, preferably?”

Ruby and Annie clear their throats but, mercifully, her sister speaks: “Such as?”

“I’ve got something we can pedal all the way back to,” Ruby huffs. “How about the fact that we’re working for a syndicate?!”

Oh. Yes. There’s that.

Beth grimaces. “Well, we’re not, _really_. We’re just kind of… working with someone who’s part of one.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Yeah, I heard it as I said it.”

Ruby drops her head into a hand. “ _Lord_ , how did we get ourselves into this?”

“We robbed a grocery store,” Annie points out.

“Which at this point seems comparatively sane!” Ruby exclaims.

“Right?” Beth agrees.

“I wouldn’t even know how to draw a straight line between grocery store vault and syndicate!”

“Oh, there’s no straight line. It’s all wonky. Probably hops, skips and jumps through dumping the wrong body, stealing a Tesla, and trying to pay off a rapist so he can look like Ron Weasley,” Annie posits.

And they all stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into side-splitting laughter.

It’s ridiculous, it truly is; all of it.

But Beth’s laughter dies down as she realises – if there is a straight line, it has a name. It’s three letters long and Beth’s all turned inside out by him.

It’s stupid. It’s so damn stupid. And she has no idea how to help it.

Her fingers go to her lips almost unthinkingly, remembering the smile they’d been drawn into this morning.

Then she clears her throat, an attempt to clear her mind, too.

“Actually, I was thinking about something else…”

Ruby raises a brow. “What?”

“Well... I was thinking maybe you could quit your job at the doughnut store.”

“Now that's what I'm talking about!” Annie grins.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. We're making good money at the dealership, and Stan's back to working.”

“Sure, but... What would I _do_?”

“Live the life!” Annie exclaims as if this is obvious.

And Beth thinks about it for a moment. Annie’s taken a job she’s always wanted at a high-end candy store, which pays a little less and has better shifts, but still passes as a job she could reasonably be making a liveable income from, if anyone comes asking. With Stan back to working, though, Ruby doesn’t really need a cover job.

“...Maybe you could take over the treasurer position at the school! God, the board _will not_ stop hounding me, and I don't ever have the time anymore.”

“Why don't you just step down? We're making the big bucks now, right?” Annie points out.

“Actually...” Beth pulls a face, “I think we should go legit.”

All the events she’d arranged to help them wash cash hadn’t moved all that much money but it had moved enough, which is probably why both women gawk at her now.

“Why would we do that?”

Beth sighs. “Because if the FBI comes sniffing around, they’ll investigate, realise they were wrong, look like fools again, and then if we ever _do_ need to use the schools again, we'll be free and clear.”

They seem to process this for a few seconds before Annie frowns.

“…Why would we need to use them again?”

Ruby’s not far behind, eyes narrowed: “You don't trust homeboy, do you?”

Beth bristles. “We're not supposed to be talking about men, remember? And it's not about trust, it's about him being... mercurial.”

“AKA an unpredictable maniac?” Annie says, head cocked.

“Or that,” Beth sighs.

There’s silence for a while as Ruby considers.

“How's those white folk gonna feel about a black bitch handling their cash?”

Beth smirks. “Well, joke's on them because the white bitch was the one using them to launder fake money.”

They all laugh before Ruby grins.

“You know what? Screw it. Yes. I hate that doughnut place.”

“Aww, I'm gonna miss the free doughnuts.”

“My waistline is a doughnut at this point.”

They all break into giggles, and Beth is still laughing when she lifts herself and heads to the kitchen to get them some more drinks.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and Beth reaches for it almost thoughtlessly before seeing the blocked number and, god, she has no control of the way her face splits into the doofiest smile.

Stupid. It’s stupid.

“Hey.” It comes out weird. She clears her throat.

“You get home ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment of dead air and she has no idea how to fill it. Are things awkward now?

Why? Because of their conversation this morning? Because they’d dove back into things without ever really addressing what went wrong last time? Because she’s a weirdo who overthinks everything in a phone conversation?

“Can I see you tonight?” he asks huskily, and she forgets to breathe.

“Um.” She blinks and behind her eyes she sees his, right above her as he moves inside her. “No.” _Shit_. “It’s family game night.”

“Alright.”

She bites at her lip. “Sorry.”

Mostly, she’s sorry for herself. She misses him already; his body wrapped around hers and his mouth on hers. She misses his lips.

“Don’t stress, mami. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Ok.”

“Cool.”

It’s his version of goodbye and she can’t stop herself: “Rio, wait.”

“Whatsup?”

“Um…”

She takes a breath, tells herself it’s a terrible idea, then speaks anyway.

“Does Marcus like Monopoly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happened! Would love to hear your thoughts :)


	9. Take A Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can believe it, everything you have read thus far and everything you have yet to read all started with two very simple ideas. 1) What if Beth had to look after Marcus for some reason? 2) Rio's always calling it bloody Monopoly money, so what if they actually *played* Monopoly *with* the money?? ... Aaaand now here we are 😝😝
> 
> P.S. This chapter is basically just Brio having all the eye sex. Ye been warned.

Ruby and Annie wiggle their eyebrows at her when there’s a knock on the door.

She makes sure to give them an extra annoyed eye roll before heading into the foyer.

Beth takes one long deep breath before pulling open the front door.

Rio has his hand on Marcus’ shoulder but his eyes are on her, half-amused as always.

“Hey.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever knocked on this door before.”

She’s teasing and he snorts softly, but Marcus is having none of this reunion: “Are we really going to play Monopoly?”

“Say hey first, lil man.”

“Hi, miss Beth,” he immediately puts on his sweetest smile.

She thinks the only way he could be any more deliberately charming is if he were his father.

“Hi, Marcus,” she grins back, heart melting. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Are we going to play Monopoly?” he asks again, practically bopping on his heels.

“We sure are.”

“Yes!” he pumps his fist. “Dad ordered pizza!”

With that he speeds past Beth and into the house, leaving Rio to shake his head.

“The kid sucks at surprises.”

“Well, here’s hoping he never gets as good at them as his dad.”

Rio’s eyes gleam as he steps in, placing down Marcus’ backpack and closing the door behind him, all without taking his eyes off her. Then he does – just for a second, to glance behind her – before stepping right in and laying a kiss at her lips.

“Hey.”

She swallows, reminding herself to breathe. “H-hi.”

“Brought somethin.”

He steps back to hold up a duffel bag.

Her eyes round.

“You’re joking.”

He grins. “Gotta play like a boss.”

* * *

“Pay up, pay up!” Annie dances.

Ruby rolls her eyes and hands over the counterfeit money.

“Mom, no offence, but playing with real money has made you insufferable,” Sadie points out.

‘Real money’. The three of them exchange glances before Annie responds.

“You won’t be saying that when I buy us a flat screen tomorrow, kid.”

Sadie doesn’t seem able to argue with this, and Beth meets Rio’s eyes above Sara’s head.

They’re all seated on the floor of the living room, the furniture moved out of the way so there’s space for the kids’ game too. Thanks to Annie, they’re nearly outdoing the noise coming from the Junior table. It’s the most fun she’s ever had on family game night.

“I’m so glad Stan isn’t here to see how bad I am losing right now,” Ruby complains.

“How come we’ve never played with real money before?” Annie ponders.

“Uh, because we’re not _ballers_ ,” Ruby points out.

“Are you a baller, Mr Rio?” Sara asks innocently.

Rio finally pulls his eyes away from Beth to regard the girl sitting on the floor between them.

“Sure am.”

“Can you make my mommy one?”

“Oh, I’m trying, kid, I’m tryin.”

Ruby shoots Beth a look but she rolls her eyes, trying to silently communicate that Sara will assume Rio is talking about the game. With a breath, Ruby nods, realising she’s let her paranoia get the better of her, as per usual. Beth smiles, still stupid happy, watching Rio play his turn. The house is utter controlled chaos and a mess twelve ways to Sunday, but she feels content and free, like this is exactly where she should be, with exactly who she should be with.

“Beth, your turn!” Annie calls out.

“Mom, calm down,” Sadie complains.

Beth laughs before playing her turn then pushes herself up and heads over to the kids’ table.

“Everything ok over here?”

“I think Kenny’s cheating,” Jane confides, in what she clearly thinks to be a whisper.

“I’m not cheating!” Kenny exclaims.

“Ok. Remember, cheaters don’t get to play.”

She rounds the table to where Marcus sits and finds herself rubbing her hand over his head.

“You ok, Marcus?”

He looks up at her with something clearly in his eyes so she crouches down, allowing him to bury his head into her shoulder to whisper.

“No one’s cheating, miss Beth. I’m keeping track.”

She pulls away to smile at him, her heart warming all over again. Over the past three hours, she’d realised how much she’d missed him.

“Thank you, Marcus. You must be as good at math as your dad.”

He holds two fingers close together. “Almost.”

She rubs his hair some more then regards the rest of the group.

Emma is having a tantrum about having to give up her house and Harry’s counting his money while Danny works at picking a booger from his nose.

“Anyone need anything? Something to drink?”

“Yeah, mom,” Kenny says, followed by a barrage of pleases and requests.

“Ok,” she laughs. “I’ll be right back.”

She heads back to the adult table, where Annie is moaning at Ruby to hurry up with her turn.

“I’m gonna get the kids some more drinks. If my turns comes up…” They all look at her hopefully but her eyes go to Ruby’s daughter. “Sara, will you please play for me? You’re the only I trust,” she adds, pretending to whisper.

Rio clutches his chest. “You don’t trust me wit’ your cash?”

“Absolutely not.”

She shoots him a smirk, which he returns, before heading to the kitchen.

She’s tasting the Kool-Aid to see if she got the ratio right when Rio walks in.

Beth gives him a look to remind him that, from this angle, they’re completely visible to everyone in the living room. He nods almost imperceptibly.

“Y’know, this ain’t as lame as I thought it was gonna be.”

She rolls her eyes before glancing behind him, where the two tables are laughing, complaining and generally making way too much noise.

She adds some ice to the jug she’s making for the kids. “I’m really glad you brought Marcus.”

It isn’t Rio’s night with Marcus, but she supposes he’d been able to convince Marina.

She wonders how. On the phone, he hadn’t sounded too worried, but she knows _she_ wouldn’t be particularly happy if Dean randomly wanted to break their schedule.

Not for the first time, she finds herself pondering his relationship with his ex.

Oblivious, Rio glances back.

“Yea, me too. Only thing he likes more than your kids is Monopoly.”

She forces herself to stop thinking about Rio and Marina. It won’t lead anywhere good.

Instead, Beth smiles. “A head for business must run in the blood.”

He laughs, pulling air past his teeth. “Oh, mami, I hope so.”

He opens one of the pizza boxes on the counter – one of the approximately ten he’d ordered – and grabs a slice while she sets out plastic glasses.

“Ok, that’s got to be your sixth slice for the night – how are you so skinny??”

He seems especially amused by this, raising a brow suggestively.

“Oh, I like to work it off.”

She’s trying to figure out what to say to that when Emma runs into the kitchen with a pout.

“Mommy! I think I did something wrong, but I don’t know.”

Rio pulls his gaze from hers then gets down to eye level with Emma.

“What d’you think you did, lil ma?”

She places a little of her top in her mouth, immediately a bit shy.

“I don’t know... I think I cheated, but not on purpose.”

“Alright, let’s go take a look, yea?”

Beth watches as her daughter nods, Rio holds out his hand and she easily slips hers in. They walk – well, Rio saunters – over to the kids’ table, chatting the whole way.

Beth’s heart aches in the best way.

* * *

“Ka-ching!” Ruby exclaims gleefully.

Beth laughs, as does Danny, who’s sitting on her lap.

The rest of the kids are still going strong in their game, though, and suddenly Emma squeals.

“Mr Rio! Mr Rio, I did it!”

Rio turns around with a grin. “That’s ma girl!”

He leans all the way back with his hand up and the two high five.

Beth can feel Ruby and Annie’s pointed glances on her, but she can’t draw her gaze away. She doesn’t even know what Emma had managed to achieve, but there is something unbearably adorable about her tiny daughter’s hand joyfully slapping Rio’s large outstretched one.

His eyes meet hers for just a second before he sits back up and hands Ruby a stack of cash.

Beth tries not to stare as the game continues, but she can’t help it; she’s lost interest.

She watches the way his eyes move over the board; the way his fingers skim his money thoughtfully; the way he confidently calculates and delivers answers to mathematical problems in seconds.

There’s something hypnotic about him and even though she’s losing spectacularly, she feels triumphant every time his tongue passes over his lips or he passes two fingers over his unshaven cheeks, considering. She remembers those cheeks between her thighs last night; between her breasts this morning. He drums lightly on the table when he’s thinking hard and she watches his fingers move; the leather bands around his wrists shift.

“Mommy,” Danny suddenly says, twisting in her lap, “can I please have more ice cream?”

She thinks about this. He doesn’t often ask for a second helping of anything and it’s unlikely to cause a chain reaction because the rest are practically in food comas, being kept awake solely by the thrill of the game.

“Just for tonight, ok?” He nods happily and she grins. “What flavour?”

“Caramel swirl?”

“Ok. Coming right up. As long as you help me lose a little less.”

He nods solemnly and as she’s standing, Rio pipes up.

“I could do wit’ some more ice cream too, Ms Boland.”

She smirks back at him, remembering his tip about getting ice cream with kids, and her earlier comment about how much he eats, and his eyes tell her he’s thinking the same.

“Sure, what flavour?”

“Whatchu got?”

“Um…” She glances back at the kitchen.

She has four kids and buys in bulk. There could be anything between ten and three hundred flavours in there.

He smiles, clearly getting the message.

“I’ll take a look.”

She nods then heads into the kitchen. Behind her, she hears him make a joke with the others, warning them that he knows how much money he has.

She ducks into the deep freezer to pull out the caramel swirl then starts tugging things aside to find all the other flavours.

She can feel Rio’s presence but ignores it. It’s integral to getting anything done. Just setting up for tonight had nearly been a disaster, with her mind wandering to him all too often. She’d find herself in the kids’ bedroom when she was supposed to be in the kitchen, or scrubbing at a faucet when she was supposed to be folding clothing.

There are three tubs of vanilla in the way and she knows he won’t want that, so she lifts them up and away.

She hears him step closer and suddenly he’s right beside her.

“I sure love you bent over,” he whispers into her ear, sending a bolt of electricity right down her spine.

She’s trying to force herself to ignore it when his hand lands firmly on her ass.

She straightens a little, her breathing uneven. His body blocks hers from view, as does the part of the kitchen they’re in, but she still tells him with a glare that this isn’t a good idea.

Except he’s Rio, so of course that only causes him to lift his hand higher then slip it down underneath her jeans, underneath her panties.

She suppresses a mix between a moan and a whimper as his warm skin touches hers, fully grasping her ass cheek. Her eyes fall close for a second as he squeezes and then all at once his hand is gone, as if it had never been there.

Her eyes jump open to catch him smirking down at her.

After a second he steps back to stand behind her, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.

She’s trying to figure out how the hell she’s going to bend over again while he’s watching without bursting into flames, but she’s saved.

“Daddy,” Marcus says, entering the kitchen, “we have to go. Mommy hates when we’re late.”

Rio claps his hands. “That’s true. Alright, Pop, say your goodbyes, grab your stuff and wait for me in the foyer, yea?”

Marcus nods, says a very sincere goodbye to her, then pads back out into the living room.

They watch, then Rio turns back to her.

“He’s right. It’s a long drive.”

That’s right – he’d said last night that his ex was staying with a friend till she was back up on her feet.

Beth forces herself to shrug and nod.

“It’s ok.”

It is, she gets it – but she also really doesn’t want him to leave. Especially not when her entire body is burning for him.

He takes a step closer, then another. It’s deliberate and slow, like he _wants_ her to try and figure out what he’s doing.

She stands still, letting him take the lead; remembering the way he’d kissed her when he’d gotten here. It had been so understated, yet it had taken her breath away.

Finally he gets to her, but his angle is all wrong for a kiss. Her shoulder is to his chest and there’s too much space between them.

Frozen, she watches his every move as he leans down into her ear.

She thinks he’s going for a chaste kiss in case anyone is watching, but instead he whispers.

“See you later?”

He pulls all the way back, his eyes expectant.

She nods wordlessly, breathless, and she glimpses his half smile before he turns and leaves.

* * *

Why can’t Marina’s fuckin friend live closer by?

He doesn’t mind the drive usually – doesn’t mind driving in general – but tonight he has somewhere to be, and he’d much rather be back there then driving across town.

He’d felt her eyes on him the whole night, laser pinpricks drilling into his skin and driving him fuckin mad. The only way to deal was to pretend not to notice, which only exacerbated the situation.

And then there were her lips, whenever he did let himself meet her gaze, which he doesn’t think should be legal on a woman who already looks like her.

Then again, ain’t like she normally has any regard for the law.

His mind goes to her most recent text. It hadn’t said much, but it had said everything.

**_Back gate code: 52304_ **

He’d almost forgotten about her new security system; how she’d complained that, before, _Anybody could just walk in._ And now nobody could. But she wants him to.

And that sends a light thrum through him that makes him press on the gas just a little harder.

“Daddy?”

Rio turns the music down.

“Yea?”

Marcus doesn’t say anything for a good few seconds, causing Rio to look in the rearview mirror to check on his son.

He seems to be chewing something over, so Rio waits.

“There’s a boy in my class I like,” he says eventually.

“Oh, yeah?” And Rio forces himself to play it cool – background checks and threats have to wait until at least high school, he feels like. “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan.”

“Jonathan, huh?” Rio repeats, trying to mentally sort through all the kids, who all look pretty much the same to him, before he remembers: “Ain’t Jonathan the one who called Lily fat a few weeks ago??”

Marcus’ eyes round: “No, that was Jonathan O! This is Jonathan G!”

And fuck, why can’t they put em in different classes when they have the same names?

“…Oh.”

He’s trying to remember which one is Jonathan _G_ when Marcus speaks again.

“Your turn.”

Rio’s brow pops up.

“For what?”

“To say who you like,” Marcus points out.

And – _oh_.

Damn, his kid is too smart sometimes.

“Yeah, we ain’t doin that.”

“But, Daddy, that’s how it works.”

“Lucky for me, I ain’t 9.”

“Can I guess?”

“Who said I like anybody, huh?”

“Is it Miss Beth?”

The question hangs in the air for too long and Rio shifts, rolling his shoulders.

“Your seatbelt on properly?” he asks, though they both know he’d already checked it.

“I won’t tell Mommy,” he assures quietly.

“You don’t gotta keep secrets from her for me.”

“ _I_ like Miss Beth,” Marcus points out.

“That’s good for you. I’m turnin the music back up.” And he’s about to but then he pauses, considering. “On Monday, Imma give you money and you buy Jonathan lunch, yeah?”

Marcus nods eagerly before a very sneaky expression crosses his face.

“Like the way you bought Miss Beth pizza?”

He gasps. “You ate that pizza too, you lil punk!”

Marcus giggles adorably, innocent like only a kid can be, which stamps a smile on Rio’s face.

Then he does turn the music back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Once again, thank you for your Rio POV encouragement, and thank you to the commenter who suggested Marcus talking to Rio about Beth - you guys are constantly inspiring me ♥
> 
> P.S. 52304 = S2E04 😏


	10. Kill A Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any mistakes; I am battling insomnia so am a little high on sleeping pills!

Beth stares at herself in the mirror.

She swallows then turns this way and that, her eyes raking over different parts of her reflection.

God, she swears she’d feel less naked if she were wearing nothing.

The dusty-pink lingerie set has only been worn once.

She’d bought it too long ago to remember, guilt overwhelming her about Dean seeming unhappy and chalking it up to her neglect of him in the bedroom. She’d eyeballed the lingerie set instead of fitting it on, and when she’d put it on that night, it had been on the large side.

It hadn’t mattered, though, because Dean hadn’t shown. She was sitting shivering in the barely-there set when he’d texted to say sorry; he was working late.

Now it fits perfectly.

Too perfectly, Beth feels. She turns to the side and notes the way her breasts protrude, tiny triangular pieces of lace covering her nipples and not much else. And her ass – well. That’s completely on display. The thong’s lace also only just covers the middle triangle of her crotch, leaving her backside entirely uncovered, with the exception of the thin straps criss-crossing around it.

She feels stupid before remembering Rio’s hand on her earlier.

Beth swallows again, her throat dry anew.

She can’t stop thinking about that moment and his confident command of her body. Heat darts between her legs as she flushes, goosebumps rising. He’d slipped his hand beneath her panties like it was nothing, like it belonged there. She’s not sure it doesn’t. 

Forcing herself back into the present, Beth turns to the front again.

Her gaze goes to her stomach, which there is no hiding from. It’s there, loud and proud, announcing that she’s had four kids and wasn’t exactly skinny before that either.

But she remembers his lips on her stomach – not treating it as a speed bump to get over, but caressing his lips over the bit of jiggle; pressing his tongue to her stretch marks.

“Beth, focus,” she says aloud, because this is becoming absurd.

She’d failed to ask last night where Marina’s friend stays, but it had been over an hour since Rio had left – during which she’d kicked her sister out of the house, gotten all the kids down in record time, did minimal cleanup, had a shower and then dug through her entire clothing collection to find this lingerie set.

And now she isn’t even sure she wants to wear it, but she feels like she’s running out of time on deciding.

Beth steps a bit closer to the mirror and feels so ridiculous, she immediately has to press her eyes closed.

This isn’t her. She can’t wear this.

He’s going to see how uncomfortable she is and wonder what the hell she’s doing.

_Be a boss bitch._

His words from so long ago roll over her for some reason, clear and crisp.

Her eyes open and she thinks: _This_ is _me. I picked this off the rack. I searched for it in my closet._ I _wanted to wear it. I’m not who I used to be. I no longer wait, shivering in the dark. This is me._

The knock jolts her.

A million emotions tear at her mind before she steps forward.

She hesitates for a moment that stretches like bubblegum as her stomach rolls around on itself. Then she sees her hand reach out for the door handle.

Slowly she opens it then steps away, knowing he’ll close it behind him.

He does and Beth waits, waits for him to step in fully. She stills feels far from her own body, watching the scene from above.

Then he turns and sees.

She snaps back, right into her bones; is propelled back into the skin his eyes burn holes in.

He grounds her in her.

It’s maybe the first time she’s ever seen him involuntarily speechless and it makes her fearless.

She moves forward till they’re breathing the same air and can’t resist her hand going to his face, running over the slight stubble that already feels so familiar.

“Nothing clever to say?” she teases.

His eyes admonish her but then he’s on her, his lips burning hot and desperate, punishing.

He’s predatory, pushing till she’s up against the bed and nearly falls; he catches her.

“You could fuckin kill a man, you know that?” he grunts, almost angry, then kisses her again, the sheer force wiping the smug smile right off her face.

Forcing herself to regain her wits, she presses a hand to his chest then shoves. To both their surprise, it works, and he stumbles back looking confused.

She cocks her head the way she’s watched him do a million times.

“...What was that thing you said you loved me doing?”

His brow furrows as he tries to figure her out, but then she twists around and she knows, somehow she knows, his jaw drops.

She walks over to the swivel armchair then slowly, incredibly slowly, places her hands on its back and leans forward as she presses up onto her toes.

His heavy breaths are audible as he takes in her entirely naked ass, framed by the barely-there thong, and then his hands are on her.

One’s on her waist to keep her still as the other travels up inside her thigh, his lips going to her back as his belt scrapes against her. She wriggles a little and his growl is tortured, his hand clawing into her waist then releasing entirely. Beth clenches as she hears the clink of his belt buckle, followed swiftly by his zipper and all of it ending up on the floor.

His hands are fists around the thong and she hears it snap beneath his palms like nothing.

She breathes and he’s inside her and she fails to muffle the screech that escapes. She gets only a second to adjust as he pulls her toward him, one hand on her breast and the other on her throat. He forces her closer as he presses into her and her eyes close. It’s already too much, with his hand squeezing and kneading her breast as he sucks the side of her neck into his mouth, setting a harsh pace. She keeps up, grinding backwards, and he moans loudly, uncontrollably, into her ear.

Realising he’s close, she halts and immediately pushes him away, twisting in his grip. He pulls out with a frustrated breath and looks at her like she has a damn lot of explaining to do.

“Sit,” she says.

It feels like there’s static on her skin – she’d been close, too – and the look in his eyes doesn’t help it as he grasps her meaning then completely kicks off his shoes and clothing.

He drops into the armchair just wearing his black t-shirt, still completely hard and _god_ , isn’t that a sight.

His legs are spread, as are his arms – because it’s Rio and he’s nothing if not cocky – but it also leaves all the space in the world for her.

Beth quivers just a little as she steps toward him, trying to seem seductive when in reality she’s nervous. She hasn’t ridden a man like this in – wait, ever? Maybe ever. But it was all she’d been able to think about tonight, watching him sit on her lounge floor. She’d wanted him then and there, really, but it hadn’t exactly been an option. Yet she'd thought about it, her gaze taking in the casual arm slung over his cocked knee as the other pressed against the floor. His lap had been open, wide, as if deliberately taunting her, and she'd imagined filling the space between his legs with herself.

Beth presses one leg down beside his then stretches the other out on the other side and he’s staring at her like she’s an actual goddess.

She leans all the way forward before lining up and dropping down on him, and this time their gasp is identical, perfectly timed. One hand goes to his shoulder and the other to just behind his ear as he grabs hold of her waist. She forces her eyes open to see him, to enjoy this, and nearly loses herself in his closed-eye slack-jawed expression. It makes her feel like a goddess, too.

Slowly, deliberately, she pushes forward and presses her hips back then reverses it, slowly, until she’s got the hang of it and she realises her body can do this – screw that, her body _loves_ this. And Rio’s helping her, desperation coming in moans from his throat as she speeds up. He buries his face in her breasts, licking and nipping, but then she grabs him by the scalp and pulls him back. _Back, back, more, more_ , she tells him with her eyes, until he’s tilted all the way back, against the headrest, and his tattoo is all hers. She runs her tongue over it and feels Rio groan against her tongue; feels him jolt up inside her.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he whispers and she smiles against his pulse, against wings that turn her on almost as much as the man they’re permanently inked onto.

She bites and sucks and feels his fingers dig deep into her skin, leaving ten crevices behind.

Her hips are still working and god, way too soon, she feels that indescribable feeling drawing tight inside her and she needs faster; harder. She works her legs toward each other, lifting her up and off him then back down, till she’s bouncing a mile a minute and the room is filled with the sound of their bodies meeting; the pop of the armchair as it gives and releases; and their desperate breaths and moans, louder than everything else.

They come seconds apart and he pulls her roughly toward him, sinking his teeth into her shoulder.

She barely feels it as the orgasm overtakes her body, shaking through her as he spills into her then pulls her lips to his. Vaguely she feels herself kiss him; feels him tear the bra apart, too, to take her nipples into his mouth and punish each accordingly.

She comes to draped over him, breathing into his ear and feeling him drip down her thighs.

She tries to speak but finds herself lacking, and she’s reminded once again that she’s never in her life come as hard as she does with him.

It’s a minute later when she finally gathers the strength to scramble off him, worried about suffocating him, but he pulls her back for a blazing kiss. His tongue darts into her mouth and for some reason she feels like he’s trying to tell her something; that that had been just as good for him.

Then he lets her go and, breathless, she heads to the bathroom.

* * *

The first thing she finds to pull on is an old t-shirt that just barely covers her crotch.

Rio’s lounging on her bed and pulls his nose up at it, but she rolls her eyes. There’s no way she’s sleeping naked while the children are in the house. She already feels guilty about how loud she’d been.

Noticing he’d pulled his underwear back on, she goes digging for something lacy – all the ancient pieces are coming out tonight, it seems – and pulls it on. It draws another look of annoyance from him, but she just shrugs then heads over to the bed.

She hesitates for a moment, not quite sure how to place herself. He’s nearly in the middle of the bed and she decides to sit just beside him, in the centre with no support. It makes her feel more in control for some reason, which is something she really needs right now.

It had occurred to her that this was the soberest they’d ever had sex – yet it had also been one of the hottest times. She doesn’t know what to do with that. Nor the fact that he seems pretty damn comfy; that all signs point to him staying the night. Is that what they do now?

It annoys her how easily he’s able to meet her eyes – is she the only one with a million uncertainties buzzing in her mind?

So she does the only thing she can think to do – she tips forward, and he meets her without hesitation, his lips warm and his tongue hotter. She wraps her arms around his neck, grateful to have the upper hand in the height game for once. Still, she could use a bit more, so she presses up onto her knees and a half-laugh falls to her mouth from his, like he knows exactly what she’s trying to accomplish. She smiles too, her hands cradling his head as his go to her waist, their tongues languid as they relish the kiss.

It’s slow yet gets her so lost, falling out of her own mind and all its questions.

He’s him and he’s warm and, like this, she means that in every way. There’s no cold shell; no tough exterior she has to get through. He’s pliable in her arms, receptive and submissive, and it makes her feel like she really _knows_ him. In this moment, she knows him. 

Then his hands move to the hem of her t-shirt and she giggles a little, rolling her eyes, as they part so he can get it off her. He pulls her even closer once it’s gone, so her breasts are squished between them, and his hand goes to the lace at her hip. He pulls it down, watching her from beneath his eyelashes, and she doesn’t move; hardly breathes.

Finally the baby pink lace falls to her knees and, quick as a whip, he grabs her left knee and pulls it up and over his own leg, parting her thighs.

A small smirk works its way onto his lips and he lifts his face a little. She kisses him, hard, and his laugh turns into a moan as his fingers dip between her legs to find her wet and hot.

He wastes no time, pressing in and finding a rhythm so harsh, she has to pull away to focus. She drags her lip into her mouth with her teeth, hissing as she works her hips down onto his torturous hand.

Suddenly he’s speaking into her ear, voice hoarse and sexy.

“Lemme hear you, mami.”

Her eyes press closed tighter as she leans onto him for support.

“Don’t stop,” she moans.

She feels his smile against her cheek as he only goes faster, pulling the wet heat up to her clit and setting a punishing pace that has her mewling, the muscles in her legs and stomach pulling tight for a second before she’s gone; floating.

“Oh, god,” she whispers, shaking; feeling like she may collapse.

His free hand goes to her ass to support her, kneading it into his hand, and it only serves to prolong the quivers riddling her body.

When she’s finally done, they both withdraw and she watches as he pulls his fingers into his mouth. She blushes, breaking eye contact to look down at the bed.

Spotting her t-shirt and drawn-down panties, she huffs.

“I can’t believe you.”

He chuckles. “Told you I want you naked, darlin.”

Emboldened by his wilfulness, Beth sits back onto her haunches to regard him.

“Take off your top.”

His eyes glimmer and then he reaches back to pull it up and off him, discarding it beside the bed.

Her eyes dance over his torso for a few seconds before she slowly, uncertainly, lowers to the bed, laying down on her back. Without hesitation, he shifts closer, propping himself up on an elbow so he can look down at her.

“So… all that was for me, huh?”

Her index finger draws itself up to go to the beak on his neck then drags down, slowly. She feels him swallow as she goes down past his chain then between his toned pecs. She hovers for just a second before retracting her hand and meeting his eyes.

“No, actually it was for the other guy I was expecting tonight, but you got here first so what could I do?”

His laugh builds from his throat then bubbles up, and she can’t help beaming.

She loves when he laughs like that. And knowing that _she_ can elicit it from him just makes it that much sweeter.

“Rio?”

“Yeah?”

She shifts down a little, so they’re eye to eye, but mainly to give her a moment of hesitation.

“How long were you married for?”

If he realises she’s trying to use his post-sex haze to extract information from him again, he doesn’t show it.

“Two years and some change.”

Unbidden, Annie’s words come back to her: _She was married to that fine piece of ass and had his baby, while you’re not even allowed to see his apartment without him picking up and leaving._

Beth forces herself not to bristle.

“…Did you love her?”

Rio sighs. “Naw.”

“What–”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

His voice is icy, and on instinct she reaches for his chin and tugs him down, taking his lips with hers for just a few seconds before pulling back.

The tension that had gathered in his brow is gone and he’s looking at her like she’s some kind of magic. She thinks, maybe, she is. She’d like to pull that trick again.

His gaze wanders, burning hot over her breasts then her stomach and hips. Lower still then back up, stuttering over her lips, until they land back on her eyes.

Slowly he reaches out and with a single finger pushes a tiny bit of her hair back.

“Can't get over how fuckin beautiful you are.”

Her breath stutters. Is that the first time he’s ever told her that?

She remembers her own words to him: _You have a way of making compliments sound like thinly veiled criticism._

But that hadn’t contained any criticism; not even a hint of sarcasm.

Beth forces herself not to squirm, but it must manifest in her expression instead, because he smirks.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He’s looking at her like she should at least try and lie better, and she nibbles at her lip for a second before confessing.

“The way you’re looking at me, it makes me feel so naked.”

“You _are_ naked, Elizabeth,” he deadpans.

She glares. “You know what I mean.”

Rio laughs but it’s shallower; breathier, and, god, she loves that one too.

He’s still staring at her and she takes the opportunity to study him properly. His dark brows, sharp nose and sun-speckled cheeks. There are laugh lines around his eyes and she thinks that may be her favourite part of his laugh – watching his eyes crinkle with amusement. It’s the only time he looks anywhere near his 37 years, whilst simultaneously looking about 19.

Her glance goes down over his lips, which are as good at kissing her as they are at admonishing her and the truth is, sometimes she doesn’t know which she prefers.

Both, she thinks. One after the other.

“Ever think about how I feel when you look at me?”

Her attention snaps back to his eyes as she registers the words he’d just said and she’s lost her breath, is trying to gain it back to ask, when a shriek rings out from upstairs.

It takes her a full second to process it and then another to pull away, her eyes closing in annoyance.

“Oh, no.”

“That one of the kids?”

She groans, hating the bad timing, then sits up to rummage for her t-shirt and pull on her panties.

“Yeah, Jane’s been having nightmares recently. Usually around this time.”

After she’s pulled on the clothing, she finds a nightgown and is still busy tying it around her waist, halfway out the door, then stops.

She wants to ask. So badly.

But then she hears Jane’s sobs ring out, muted in the distance, and with a sigh, she heads off to comfort her daughter.

* * *

It’s over half an hour later when she slips back into her bedroom.

She fully expects Rio to be fast asleep – the way she’d left Jane – so she comes to a full halt when she sees him sitting up in bed, typing on his cellphone.

He doesn’t look up.

“You ready? I'm beat.”

Her mouth drops open with a breath. She wants to say that he hadn’t had to wait up for her, but it’s too late for that now because he _had_ and it curls around her heart in the weirdest way.

That being said… his words, combined with the way he studiously isn’t making eye contact, tells her that they won’t be continuing from where they’d left off.

Sighing, she responds: “Yeah, just one minute.”

She’s back out of the bathroom in less, having only needed to pee, and comes to a dead stop at her side of the bed.

Rio pops a brow curiously.

“Compromise,” she announces, then pointedly undoes the tie on the nightgown.

His gaze goes to it then jumps back up to hers. He takes a breath of consideration then nods, conceding.

Good. She drops the gown then pulls back the blanket and slides into bed in her panties and t-shirt. Rio turns off the lamp then joins her beneath the blanket.

It occurs to her that he’s never spent the night in her bed before.

That this is actually only the second time they’ve _ever_ spent the night together, and the first time had mostly been out of necessity. That they’re still painfully sober.

Her heart is thudding, trying to process any of that, when suddenly he moves to the centre of the bed then, with a firm hand on her stomach, brings her nearer. Well – a very specific _part_ of her especially near.

Blushing, she takes the hint and presses her butt out into the space between them, just barely brushing against his crotch. Rio hums his approval.

His hand slowly moves from her stomach, tracing his finger over her hip then just beneath the line of her thin panties. It had ruched and he pulls it out; straightens it, then snaps it back against her skin. It’s lace so it doesn’t hurt, but a shiver still runs down her spine.

He leaves his hand there, on the curve of her ass, the only place where they're really touching, then dips his head a little closer to her hair.

“You smell good, mami.”

The blush dissipates, as she falls asleep, but god, the feeling stays. It’s surreal – getting to have everything she's dreamt of in one whole moment.

* * *

**Beth's lingerie set:**

**(in this colour)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed 💓💓


	11. ~ Interlude ~

* * *

Beth opens her eyes slowly, feeling someone gently shaking her awake.

The clock says 4:33.

She turns.

It’s Rio, looking down at her with light amusement. He’s fully dressed. She blinks then swallows.

“Hey,” she says, her voice scratchy. He smirks a little more.

“Imma leave, before the kids wake up.”

It takes her a second to process this before she nods.

She wants to thank him for waking her, but doesn’t know how to say it.

Her eyes are searching his face when suddenly his lips slant over hers and her gasp allows his tongue entrance.

He’s warm and tastes like toothpaste. She gets a little thrill from knowing he’d used her toothbrush.

Her hand goes to the back of his neck, anchoring them together.

Eventually, reluctantly, he pulls away. Still half asleep, her eyes stutter back open.

Again, she’s not quite sure what to say. His gentle smile is all mixed up in the fuzziness of sleep inside her mind.

He pulls the covers up, so she’s completely ensconced, then he’s gone. Her eyes slip closed again as she just barely makes out the creak of the door behind him.

Smiling, she falls back asleep.

* * *


	12. Feel Good

He comes over the next night.

She exits the bathroom freshly showered and he’s there, sitting on her bed like he belongs.

There’s a smirk on his lips and an aching between her hips and they don’t even get his jeans all the way off before she comes with her head tipped back and his teeth on her nipple.

He takes them off before climbing under the covers with her, though, and falls asleep playing with her hair.

* * *

He wakes her the next morning again.

They kiss for longer and he even slips a hand beneath the sheet to trace his fingers around her nipples, hardening them before slipping away.

* * *

He’s there the next night, too.

She puts her keys down on the table in the hall – back from dropping the kids off at Dean’s – and loses her breath when she gets to the lounge and sees him perched on the back of the sofa.

Something like relief and fear mix in her stomach because for some reason she didn’t think he’d come back three times in a row, and she doesn’t know what it means.

“Hey,” he drawls, his eyes taking in her body.

He’s dressed in all black – like he’d just come from work – melton jacket and sweater and everything, a chain hanging against it all.

“Hi,” she says, a little shyly.

He must’ve slipped in through the back, expecting her to be here. Must’ve looked for her. But despite her being nowhere to be found, he hadn’t left. He’d waited.

He’d waited.

“C’mere,” he motions his head.

She does, taking it one step at a time.

Finally getting to him, she slots her hips between his legs. God, he smells good. She wants to wrap herself up in him.

He scans her face.

“You ok?”

She scrunches up her nose and mouth. “It’s just Dean. We’re in the home stretch and he’s freaking out a little.”

He’d asked her once if she was sure, once if this was the life she wanted for their kids, once if she really didn’t love him anymore and once if she was ready to be a divorcee. 

“Hmm,” he notes, running his hand from her neck to her cleavage. “You want me to make you feel better?”

Her throat goes dry and she nods, almost too quickly; too eagerly. Greedy, she’s greedy for him.

He lets out a breath and it’s hot, drawing her eyes to his moist lips.

“I wanna make you feel good, mami.”

And he undoes the buttons of her dress, sucks on her breasts through her bra till he has her mewling, then guides her till she’s sitting on the armrest.

He gets down to his knees and removes her heels, stockings and panties before tugging her closer to his mouth and eating her out, hands on her breast and pressed-open knee, till she feels much more than better; till she’s floating on a cloud she thinks he spun with his tongue.

Draped over him, she speaks into his ear, still a little breathless.

“Tell me what _you_ want.”

She wants to make him feel good, too.

He looks up at her, considering; pupils blown and lower lip sucked into his mouth.

Then he’s slipping her heels back on and she’s confused before he stands and steps back, motioning his head towards the bedroom.

“Lemme see you.”

She blinks back at him, her heart racing, and she almost falls the first time she tries to stand. There’s her nerves and the look in his eyes and the fresh orgasm running through her veins and god, none of it makes for a very coordinated Beth, but she tries, shucking her undone dress from her arms. He nods and she goes for her bra too, letting it drop to the floor at her feet.

The look in his eyes bolsters her and she steps toward him with her shoulders pressed back, watching his gaze sear from her breasts to her stomach and then lower, driving her to keep walking. And a flush spreads across her chest when she realises she has to turn, display her ass for him, to get to the bedroom but she does it, spinning on her heels.

It’s when she hears an inelegant “Fuck” drop from his lips that, with a nibble on her lip, she sways her hips dramatically, all the way into her bedroom.

He’s right behind, feral, and her second orgasm for the night comes with her heels pressed deep into his back; the third with his thumb on her clit and her ass in the air as he bites deep into the soft pale skin.

“Told you you belong on a runway somewhere,” he says after they’ve eventually managed to crawl their exhausted bodies properly into bed.

And the hand she reaches across to slap him playfully across the chest with stays there for the night.

* * *

He wakes her the next morning again, and she’s becoming used to the early hours of the morning and falling back asleep with an indelible smile.

* * *

"You still in bed?”

Beth’s eyes open lazily, and it takes a whole second for her take in the late-morning sunlight and Rio in her room, wearing a different outfit to last night’s. She jolts then twists around to check the time.

It’s 11.15.

Beth’s jaw drops. She doesn’t think she’s ever in her adult life slept until 11.15.

“You turned off my alarm?!” she glares at Rio, who looks very smug.

“You ain’t got the kids.”

“I have a job!”

“You takin the day off.”

And she can’t really argue with that because she now already _has._

“You’re unbelievable.”

A brow pops. “Even if I brought breakfast?”

And that’s when she realises there’s a bacon smell in her room and she’s _starving_. God, he’d fucked her so damn good.

He hands over a paper bag and soon enough, she’s eating eggs Benedict – eating in bed, another thing she’s never done – and sipping on a cappuccino and Rio’s stealing some of her bacon, and it’s only when she’s done eating that she realises he definitely didn’t come here just to bring her breakfast.

She decides not to let him know she knows, though, even though she’s already getting wetter and wetter at the look in his eyes.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

He shrugs. “Owed ya.”

Which she nearly questions, before remembering his apology about only having pancakes at his fancy house.

“It was good.”

“Bought it myself.”

She laughs in spite of herself and he smirks. Maybe he knows; know she knows and doesn’t want him to know. But she doesn’t let her small smile give anything away, and after a few moments, he speaks.

“Got bruises,” he informs her nonchalantly.

She lifts an eyebrow, puzzled for a moment, before remembering.

“From my shoes??”

He nods then twists and lifts up his T-shirt. There are indeed twin purple ovals etched into his lower back. Not thinking, she reaches out to touch them and it’s like he knew – of course he knew – because he twists back around, quick as a whip, and catches her hand then tugs it to his mouth, kissing her fingertips as he looks up at her through his lashes.

He knows her too damn well because it’s all it takes – she runs her thumb over his bottom lip then presses it into his mouth. He sucks and she moans, shifting down and pressing her free hand to his cock. She rubs him and he groans around her thumb. She pulls it from his mouth and replaces it with her lips.

They both taste like breakfast and coffee and soon she’s on top of him, grinding her wet heat against his jeans till he’s simultaneously trying to get them off and press two long fingers into her. She helps with his button and zip and they’re both breathing hard and whimpering even before he’s inside her and she’s bouncing recklessly, sobbing gibberish onto his tongue. (When they have their breath back, he tells her in her ear that next time he wants her on top with her ass to him, so he can see the bruises _he’d_ left on her last night, and she’s nodding before he’s even finished, imagining his eyes on the purple marks he’d sucked onto her as she bounces on his cock.)

When he leaves, there’s a wet patch on his jeans, and that’s definitely the only reason she tells him to bring extra clothes to leave here.

Definitely.

* * *

“Talk to me,” Ruby says, shutting the front door behind her.

Beth turns from where she’s melting down butter for cookies.

“Meeting’s all set up with the planning committee.”

Ruby takes a seat at the counter.

“Like I told you?”

She nods. “Agreed for 10, then called back and said only 10.30 would work for you.”

“It’s a power move.”

“Right. So they’re all primed to hear your brilliant pitch.”

“You looked over my ideas?”

Ruby had emailed them through yesterday morning and Beth nods.

“They’re great.”

“As in ‘Those bitches are going to be eating out of my hand’ great?”

“Oh, no, definitely not. They’re going to pretend for at least ten minutes that they hate it all. But just power through. They’re really great ideas. Especially the cook-off.”

“Score,” Ruby grins.

Beth grins back.

“Are you staying for cookies?”

“Not today, Satan. Right after quitting the doughnut joint, I went straight to the gym. Got me a membership that I intend to use _at least_ twice before using various excuses to escape my guilt.”

Beth laughs as she turns back to get the butter off the heat.

“How do you feel about starting a gym pact that we’ll break in two weeks and then spend the next five years talking about regretfully?”

“Didn’t we do that in 2012?”

“You’re right, sequels are never as good as the originals.”

Beth shakes her head, smiling.

She’d tried shaking off the baby weight after each of her kids, but had always only gotten about eighty percent of the way there before either giving up or finding herself pregnant again.

God. As much as she loves her kids, she considers her tubal ligation to have been one of her best decisions in life. She’d been planning to get it after Jane, really, but Dean had convinced her otherwise.

“So, don’t get mad.”

Beth shakes from her reverie.

“Why would I get mad?”

“Well, you seem a bit touchy about this particular topic.”

“What topic?”

“Our leader in crime.”

Beth tries not to bristle. “What about him?”

“I owe you an apology,” Ruby admits sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have gotten all Spanish Inquisition the other day because you spent one night together.”

Beth bites on the inside of her cheek, trying not to let out that at this point it’s been four consecutive nights.

“It’s just that,” Ruby sighs, “sometimes it kinda seems like more, and I’m worried about you.”

“What do you mean?” she frowns.

“I mean the way you talk about him.”

She remembers Annie’s estimation: _You know you look at him weird, right?_

“Come on. I don’t talk about him weird.”

“It’s not _weird_ , it’s just…”

“ _What_?”

“Well, like – you seemed _so sure_ he hadn’t lied about not seeing anyone else…”

Beth hesitates for a moment before looking down, recalling that moment.

“You’d understand if you’d been there when I told him about Dean cheating. God, Ruby, you should’ve seen his face. It was like he would’ve ripped Dean skin from bone right there and then if he could’ve. And then he spoke about that night – we _never_ speak about that night – and he said he should’ve killed Dean when he had the chance.” She draws a breath. “And that’s when he said it. He said he’d tell me if there was anyone else.”

“Shit,” Ruby breathes. “He wasn’t lying.”

“No,” Beth shakes her head.

“Ok, but… how?”

“No; not you too.”

“Look, I’m not Annie, but the man is _fine_. Anybody can see that. And he’s clearly rolling in it. He’s gotta be beating women off with a stick, right?”

The imagery doesn’t exactly help with her insecurities about them, but then she remembers that he’d been with her four nights in a row. He could’ve gone out with any of those women; gone out to find anyone else. But he hadn’t. He’d come to be with her.

So, pushing that aside, Beth struggles with herself for a moment before, with a breath, deciding to reveal her theory about Rio’s single status.

“I think it’s about his marriage.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, it ended years ago and I don’t think it was in a good place. Marcus told me they used to yell at each other every night.”

After he’d admitted to not seeing anybody else and he’d gotten so defensive when she’d outright asked about his marriage, Beth had begun working on the pieces of the puzzle, with Marcus’ estimation of the relationship making for a central piece.

“Every night??” Ruby asks, jaw agape.

“Every night.”

“I mean, I know kids exaggerate, but… he didn’t just say ‘a lot’ or something?”

“He said every night.”

“Well… Have you tried asking _him_ about it?”

“Yes, but he’s not exactly the most forthcoming person in the world, even with me.”

“Maybe you should try again.”

And, Beth thinks, maybe she should.

But then she gives her best friend a look and Ruby frowns.

“What?”

“Why does any of this matter? I know you’re not Rio’s biggest fan.”

Ruby rolls her eyes a bit before shrugging.

“I don’t mind him. I mean, I kinda like him, even, I guess,” she shrugs. “When he’s playing Monopoly instead of, you know, being completely terrifying, he’s admittedy funny and fun and… charming. Plus he was nice to my kids. And when he left that night, even though the game wasn’t over, he let us keep all our cash, which means mama’s getting a new oven.”

Beth smiles in spite of herself but doesn’t say anything, knowing Ruby’s not done.

“But you know who I _am_ the biggest fan of?”

“Who?”

“You, Beth. And that guy, as funny and charming as he is, spells trouble. Not just prison trouble, either – which, let me tell you, is already enough of a hurdle – but actual relationship chaos. Sure, you’re giddy now, but what about two, three months down the line? A mystery is really sexy till you’re dating it.”

Beth looks down at the counter.

“We’re not dating.”

“Which is half my point. I know after Dean you’re not exactly looking for someone to walk you down the aisle, but you’re also not this ‘We’ll see where the wind takes us’ person.”

Beth doesn’t know what to say to that. As usual, Ruby’s right.

Sighing, she cocks her head, her eyes sympathetic.

“Too much truth?”

Beth nods. “Too much truth.”

“Sorry, babe.”

“What else are friends for?” she smiles, but it’s a bit sad.

There’s silence for a few moments.

Then: “That being said… nobody’s ever died seeing where the wind takes them. Except maybe, like, during hurricanes.”

And now her smile is genuine, matching Ruby’s.

“Yeah?”

Ruby shrugs. “Yeah.”

“And how long do I get to see where the wind takes me?”

“Like at least until you find out what happened in his weirdo marriage.”

They laugh and then Ruby gets off the stool and grabs her bag, about to head out.

“Wish me luck charming your old committee.”

“Good luck, they’re psychos.”

“So _that’s_ why you fit in so well.”

Beth scoffs.

“Hate you.”

“Hate your face.”

She’s smiling as Ruby heads to the door but, halfway there, her friend stops.

“Hey, remember when you said you’ve never looked at Dean the way I look at Stan?”

Shrugging, Beth nods. “Yeah.”

And slowly Ruby turns back to her, a strange look in her eyes.

“That night, Monopoly night… I saw the way you looked at Rio.”

Beth doesn’t blink, just stares, waiting for more, but Ruby just _looks_ at her. They’ve known each other for too long. Some things don’t need words.

So without another one, Ruby turns back around and leaves.

* * *

It’s not that she expects him again.

Beth just clears out a drawer and a shelf because she’d mentioned it this morning and it’s pro-active. She puts on a pot of spaghetti sauce because _she’s_ craving it – although it does cross her mind that she’d like to taste it from his tongue, but she pushes the thought away.

She pours a glass of red wine, takes a bath and is onto her second glass of wine when she decides _fuck it_ and sends him a picture of the pasta sauce.

He’s there five minutes later, which tells her he’d already been on his way, and it makes her struggle to scrub the smile from her face almost as much as the sports bag he brings along, filled with clothing instead of money this time.

They eat on the couch and then they fuck on the couch and then they fall asleep on the couch. He wakes her at 3am and they zombie-walk to bed together.

* * *

She wakes first.

It’s weird, and she’s checked the time and frowned at the near-darkness outside and Rio’s sleeping form before it finally comes back to her and she realises why.

She shimmies closer to him and presses gently at his shoulder.

“Rio.”

It’s in that moment that she realises she’s never seen him wake up before.

Beth watches, as if marvelling at a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, as his eyes stutter open and he swallows.

He runs a hand over his face then licks his tongue over his lips as his nose quivers like he might sneeze. Finally his eyes focus.

“Somethin wrong?” he asks, still seeming very sleepy.

She shakes her head, moving even closer, so she can whisper.

“I had a dream.”

And he looks puzzled at first before he reads her expression and his face washes, his hand going to her hair.

“You dreamin about me, mami?”

She doesn’t have to nod, she knows he knows, so she just shifts even closer, till she’s pressing against him.

“I didn’t come,” she says, meeting his eyes with a bit of her lip sucked into her mouth.

And he swallows hard as his hand finds her thighs wet, making a moan come from his throat that she’s never heard before. It’s a morning of firsts, she thinks, because she’s never had that hot of a sex dream before, she’s never woken up to find the object of her fantasy in her bed and she’s definitely never in her life wanted this much constant sex. But even though she’s sore literally everywhere, she feels the want for him like a drill to her bones.

Rio pushes the sheet down without preamble then tugs her legs apart and buries his head between her thighs.

She digs her nails into his neck and presses her legs open as far as they’ll go, calling out loudly and struggling to stay still. Her other hand grips the headboard and her knuckles turn white as he hooks two fingers into her while sucking at her clit and she comes completely apart way too quickly, his name on her lips.

They both go back to sleep after that and when she wakes, it’s to catch him already awake and staring at her with an odd look in his eyes. He quickly looks away, though, and heads to the bathroom.

It’s as she’s admiring his naked back and ass that she realises – she’s gotten pretty damn used to sleeping naked.

* * *

“Rio.”

He turns from looking at all the cereals.

She grips her coffee cup hard, so anxious that she genuinely considers pretending she’d forgotten what she wanted to say.

Then she clears her throat.

“Are you ever going to tell me about your marriage?”

Something crosses his eyes and she is a hundred percent sure he’s going to turn away with some glib remark, but instead he leans back, hands gripping the counter behind him.

“Whatchu wanna know?”

And the question catches her so much by surprise that for a second she actually has no idea.

“Um, I – uh.” His smirk forces her to form her tongue into something intelligible: “You said you didn’t love her. Why did you marry her? Was it because of Marcus?”

Which is the obvious answer, but the timelines don’t line up. Rio had said he’d been married for over two years; Marcus is nine, and he’d been old enough to remember his parents fighting. 

“Kinda,” he shrugs, and she notices the instant tension in his shoulders.

Every time this topic comes up, he seizes up. And while she doesn’t want to force him to talk about something that so clearly pains him, how else is she ever supposed to find out?

“What does that mean?”

He sighs, long and drawn out.

“We never really got together, Marina and me. She was into me and I wasn’t real interested, but you know how it goes. Had one too many drinks, she was there–”

“Just the one time?” she stops him, crossing her arms over her chest.

It’s stupid, but she doesn’t want to hear details about him being with another woman, even ten years in the past.

He nods. “Condom broke.”

“So you proposed?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “She was stubborn. Didn’t want no pity marriage.”

“But eventually…”

“She wanted out of her parents’ place. Wanted a proper life for her kid.”

It seems like a quote taken straight from Marina, so Beth frowns.

“What did _you_ want?”

He looks confused.

“Whatchu mean?”

“I mean, why did you marry her if you didn’t love her and she’d already turned you down? Because it was the right thing to do?”

And now he cocks his head and stares at her like she’d just said the strangest thing he’d ever heard.

“ _Naw_.”

But she’s confused too, and she wishes he could see that.

“Then why??”

“’Cuz I wanted to see my kid grow up,” he eventually says, a bit too loud, and it pushes her back. “There ain’t nothin like bein around every day and night, seeing em start figurin out words then sentences and start climbin shit, taste foods for the first time; there ain’t nothin like that.”

She knows. There’s a reason why she has so many children; why Dean had been able to convince her to have more than she’d planned to. She adores the same things. It’s why it tears her apart a little each time she drops them at Dean’s – each time she thinks of all the things she’ll be missing.

“But, then…”

He clicks his tongue, seemingly annoyed all over again with something in the past.

“That ain’t somethin to build a marriage on.”

“No,” she agrees softly.

“We both knew it pretty damn quick. Soon as the kid was in bed, I didn’t wanna be there no more; felt like I was suffocatin.”

 _Every night they yelled at each other and then Daddy would go out and Mommy cried and Daddy didn’t come back till I was sleeping_ , she remembers Marcus’ words.

“I’d wanna go out, breathe, and we’d fight, I’d get back and we’d fight. After he left for school, we’d fight. Was a fuckin nightmare. Signin them papers was like her takin a weight off my shoulders.”

“ _She_ asked for the divorce?” Beth asks in surprise.

He stares at her, something unreadable in his eyes.

“When you married, you know just what to say, yeah? To make em hate you. And in the end it don’t matter who asked for the papers, ‘cuz you already know who ended it.”

She nods, realising she knows exactly what he means.

They’d been over for so long before Dean gave her those papers. Since the night she’d led Rio into that bathroom, if not sooner.

Maybe the night she’d placed Rio’s life above his.

_Or you could just pull the trigger._

_Dean, shut up!_

He’d asked for it, but they’d both known who had really called off their marriage.

There’s silence for so long that she jerks when Rio finally speaks again.

“That all you wanted to know?”

Is it? She’s not sure. The information overload has her feeling dizzy; she’s not used to Rio being this open all at once.

“Why did you tell me?”

His frown is deep.

“ _You asked_.”

She’s stunned for a moment, mostly by his absurdity, before finally a scoff escapes.

“Since when is that enough?”

He steps closer, cocking his head a little.

“Next time you ask somethin and don’t actually wanna know the answer, you just lemme know, yeah?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I gotta go; you got Cocoa Puffs or what?”

And she sighs, moving towards the cereal cabinet as he gets out of the way.

“That stuff’s terrible for you.” She pulls out a box and passes it over, which he regards with suspicion. “This is healthier and tastes just as good.”

He stares for a second longer before taking it, muttering about how he’s too hungry to say no and he’ll get real breakfast later.

He pours a bunch out into a bowl then starts snacking on it dry and, figuring she’s hungry too, she reaches for some. He lets her and it’s not bad this way, crunchy and chocolatey in her mouth. They stand like that, leaning against opposite counters; the bowl between them and their feet nearly touching as they chomp on chocolate cereal.

“Whatchu doin tonight?” he asks after a few mouthfuls.

“Book club,” she shrugs. “You?”

“Workin.”

She nods. She supposes real life had to break their little bubble of a routine sooner or later.

She wants to ask if he’ll be coming here after work, but she quashes the urge.

After a few more mouthfuls, he plonks the bowl down on the counter and grabs his jacket. She freezes when he presses against her, but it’s only for a light kiss against her hairline.

“Have a good day, yeah?”

Which stuns her even more, and she’s just about worked out a response when he’s gone, only a hint of his clean cologne left behind.

That and his discarded bowl. Staring at it, Beth doesn’t let herself think about how his marriage had been a catastrophe because he couldn’t bear being there for any consecutive string of nights; how he’d been with her every night for nearly a week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one were initially going to be one chapter, but then I ended up splitting them because I felt it was too long with too much going on, so I look forward to hearing your thoughts about everything that did happen! Also, I played around with a bunch of different kinds of sex scenes and levels of intimacy in this one, so I'm really curious to know which was your favourite and why, so I can take that feedback into later chapters ;)
> 
> P.S. It's only just occurred to me that breakfast has become such a Brio thing in this fic. I don't know how or why because I certainly never did it on purpose, but now here we are, lol.


	13. A Lil Bigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I said, this chapter was supposed to be part of the last, so they're very much on the same vibe, with some more of the plot-type stuff getting underway again in the next chapter. Thank you so much for your feedback on the last one! I loved hearing what it was you guys enjoyed, and will try to bring those same elements to future chapters. I hope you enjoy this one too 😘

It’s not that Beth doesn’t like book club.

It’s just that, some weeks, she needs to prepare with a glass of wine then reinforce it with as many bourbons as she can excuse herself for.

She’s on her third when Julie calls from the lounge for a pen and Beth swears she’d prepped with enough pens for three times the number of women she has over, but with a repressed eye roll she calls out that she’ll bring one.

Except, when she starts sifting through the kitchen drawers, she finds everything but. Here’s a stub of a pencil and here’s a faded receipt for that pair of boots she’d bought Emma a few months ago and there’s a cookie cutter she’d thought she’d lost.

She places it with the rest of the set then calls out that she’s going to look in her room and heads there with a sigh, mentally cursing Ruby and Annie for bailing on her this week. Normally when people start getting out pens, her sister would ask whether this was book club or write club – or something equally as egregious yet effective – and she and Ruby would pull faces at each other whenever one of the women said something particularly obnoxious.

She clicks on her bedside lamp then jumps back with a small yip.

Rio’s in the corner armchair, tucked in shadows, half-sat on the armrest.

She doesn’t know how she knows, but she knows he hasn’t gone to work yet.

He’s been out.

Maybe it’s how early it still is or the popped collar of his dark grey wool coat. Maybe it’s the slight glaze over his eyes that says she’s not the only one who’s been drinking.

She sets down her bourbon then clicks the door closed behind her.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

Which, true, she hadn’t known for any of the past few nights, either, but he’d made it seem this morning like he wouldn’t be by again.

“Wasn’t plannin on it.”

She frowns.

“Then why are you here?”

And now he rises slowly, his eyes not leaving hers till he starts to approach and then his gaze rakes down her body and she flushes, remembering what she’s wearing.

She _really_ hadn’t expected him tonight. The peach knitted sweater had been nicked in several places by all her children and it’s jeans laundry day, so she’s wearing an old maternity pair that’s comfy but an unappealing light wash that does nothing for her figure.

Rio stops only when their feet are touching and it makes her breathe heavier because now she knows exactly why he’s here.

She’d be lying if she said she hasn’t thought about him tonight. Their book is about a mother practising mindfulness, and Beth had related, her mind on the fullness of having Rio inside her. And the bourbon hadn’t helped, either, because she’s beginning to confuse it with the taste of his lips.

She gets his coat off then presses her hands to his sides just to steady herself and Rio ducks, his breath cool and laced with liquor. It’s weird that he’s been drinking before work and Beth wonders if it’s because of the painful trip down memory lane she’d taken him this morning. But, quickly, he has her distracted.

He noses over her cheek, laying whisper kisses, with a low hum-groan that turns her on more than anything he could say.

“I want you, mami.”

Scratch that. 

She doesn’t think about how she likely smells like bourbon, earlier’s cooking and books; she doesn’t think about the underwear she’s wearing; she doesn’t even think about all the women in her lounge. All she thinks about is slipping her hand into his and leading him into the bathroom.

He doesn’t take his eyes off her for a second as he follows and she realises he’s a bit drunker than she’s ever seen him. There’s a quality to his eyes she can’t quite describe, an unconcealed _want_ , and it burns holes into her.

She closes the door behind him and she wants to press even closer, kiss him, but the look in his eyes tells her that once they start, they aren’t going anywhere.

So instead she backs up, till her butt hits the bathroom chest, and instantly Rio’s there, working at her button, and she helps before getting rid of her sweater. It’s only when it’s cleared her head that they kiss, hot and sloppy.

She pulls the gun from his waistband and sets it beside her before both their hands go to his jeans then tear at his briefs. He doesn’t even take her panties off, just pushes them to the side, and Beth’s jaw drops, her mouth falling open.

_Mindfulness._

He laps at her lips and she meets first his tongue then his thrusts, gasping when he drapes her knee higher on his hip and pulls her impossibly closer.

They’re going too fast too soon, the chest’s drawers rattling, and Beth kisses at then bites into his hard bicep, fighting for some control.

And she’s getting there, skyrocketing, when suddenly there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

“Beth?”

“ _Oh, fuck_ me,” she mutters, having entirely forgotten about book club still continuing a room away.

“I’m tryin,” Rio laughs into her ear, and she pinches him, which only makes him laugh more, then speed his thrusts in retaliation.

She moans, sucking her lip into her mouth.

“Are you ok?” comes the voice.

“ _Are_ you ok, Ms Boland?” Rio teases her, but she doesn’t have the presence of mind to focus on them both.

“No, actually!” she calls out. “Um, I’m feeling really ill. I think you guys should probably go, I don’t want to give it to you.”

“Oh, no. Can we get you anything?”

“Annie’s already bringing meds – please just head out, I’ll be fine.”

She gets wished well by three separate women but, a minute later, the house has gone thankfully quiet.

“You a good liar.”

She presses a harsh kiss to his lips. “Keep going.”

She doesn’t have to ask again and soon her body is shaking just a little and then all the way and he’s rigid and cursing, digging a hand into her bra, and Beth loses herself as he bottoms out into her.

It’s only when the flaming red crescents dug deep into his skin begin to fade that they pull apart from one another.

They clean up then re-dress before Rio clears his throat.

“Gotta go.”

“No,” she says, tone solid and uncompromising.

He cocks his head in genuine, if drunken, confusion and she lifts her chin.

“You need to sleep it off.”

By _you_ she really means _we_ , but then again she’s not the one who has to go to work, is she?

And before he can argue, she has his hand in hers again and is tugging him back into the bedroom.

He grumbles a little but diligently kicks off his shoes as she minimally prepares the bed, mostly just bringing down pillows for them to collapse onto. His lands a little higher than hers so that, when they settle into the centre of the bed, they’d be spooning if they were touching.

As it is, his right hand’s fingers simply rest on her hip, curling into her old sweater.

* * *

When she wakes at 2am, he’s gone, and Beth looks at his rumpled pillow for a moment before shimmying out of her jeans, climbing under the duvet, and putting it beneath her head.

* * *

“Gina!” she calls over one of Rio’s people.

Her afro bobs as she comes jogging over, looking as flustered as Beth.

“I know,” she says as soon as she gets to her.

A pill car has just left the lot, one that Beth had _definitely_ said was not to leave today. It’s not the first time it’s happened and Beth’s seeing red.

“Who authorised it?” Beth bites.

Gina pulls a face.

“Drip.”

And of course it was.

Her gaze goes to the skinny white guy perched on the hood of one of the cars about 20 yards away.

Drip is… well, to say he’s a problem child would be putting it lightly. She’d asked all of Rio’s delivery drivers – who are thankfully all non-tattooed, at least in the visible areas – to dress well, have non-suspicious aliases and know the basic details about the normal cars on the lot, just so things seem as above board as possible to her customers and legit employees.

Everyone had complied – except for Drip. He calls himself _Drip_ , for god’s sake.

He also has the very annoying habit of pretending like she hadn’t spoken when she had, completely disregarding her commands, and talking very slowly like she’s a kindergartener he has to cater to.

She’s just about to go over there and wring his skinny little neck when suddenly Gina’s eyes round.

Beth spins to see what she’s looking at and huffs when she spots Rio leaning in the doorway.

“Also Drip’s doing, I’m guessing.”

Gina shrugs apologetically and Beth takes a second to glare at Drip from afar before spinning back around and making a beeline for Rio.

“Afternoon, Ms Boland.”

“ _What are you doing here_?”

He shrugs. “Got a complaint, came to resolve it.”

“You’re undermining my authority by showing up here like this,” she glowers.

And he doesn’t say anything to that as she rounds him then makes her way to her office.

He enters after her and she slams the door shut, making his brow quirk.

“You really upset, huh?”

His eyes search her face and _god_ , yes, she was, but now he’s looking at her and it all seems to melt away, leaving her only with the realisation that this is the first time in a long while that they’ve been together without having sex.

They also haven’t spoken at all since last night and the question of why he’d gone out drinking is fresh on her mind. That, plus a niggling thought: why had he come to _her_? 

_He doesn’t have a daughter, but god knows every woman that man knows wants to call him daddy; The man is _fine_. Anybody can see that. And he’s clearly rolling in it. He’s gotta be beating women off with a stick, right?_

She keeps thinking about it; about the fact that he must've been surrounded by gorgeous women checking him out wherever he'd been drinking last night. It's not like he's in any sort of committed relationship with Beth - he could've easily taken one of them home. But he'd come to her instead. It trips her up each time she thinks about it, tries to understand it. 

It makes her miss her opportunity to respond and Rio rolls his shoulders.

“Hear you got a problem wit’ movin cars. Ain’t that what one does at a car dealership?”

And now his brows are furrowed together in that fake-confused way he has that, for the record, she finds incredibly annoying.

“It’s too many,” she points out. “Do you know how suspicious it looks if too many cars move off a lot every day? Way more than the legit ones we’re selling, even.”

He waves a hand. “Sounds like a problem wit’ your salespeople.”

“ _No_ ,” she glares, “it’s a problem with you promising more than we can deliver, at least in one day.”

He steps closer. “I gotta remind you about the FedEx concept?”

She stands her ground. “Do _I_ have to remind you about a squad of FBI agents swarming into my dealership and seizing it for weeks?”

He sucks his cheek into his mouth, considering, and she takes it as an in.

“The deliveries need to be staggered.”

He takes another step forward. “And what exactly am I supposed to tell our customers, darlin? ‘Your call is important to us, please hold’? They just gonna go somewhere that ain’t gonna make em wait.”

“Then we get strategic and offer them something else, like you said.”

“Somethin else,” he repeats, brow quirking. “Like fast delivery?”

And now he’s just a step away, which makes her commit extra hard to her glare.

“We’re still trying _not_ to get arrested, right?”

But it only seems to lure him in; he closes the distance between them with a little head shake.

“Actually, think I’d like to see you in cuffs.”

The look in his eyes makes her step back with a quick breath.

“That’s not funny.” Then, when he reaches for her: “ _Not here_.”

“Nuh?”

She shakes her head. “There are _people_.”

It’s not even 11am yet, the dealership is full, and anyone could knock on her door at any moment.

He looks amused. “That the only reason?”

And _that’s right_ , they’re still in the middle of a negotiation, never mind the fact that this is her workplace.

She glares. “ _No_. But it’s the most pressing.”

He smirks, that lewd one he has that tells her he’s turning that into something really dirty in his mind, which involuntarily makes her think of all the ways he could be _pressing_ up against her.

Then he puts his hands on her waist and she’s all the way backed up against the wall, so there’s nowhere for her to escape even if she wanted to.

But she tries to keep her chin lifted.

“What are we going to do about the deliveries?”

“I’ll think on it,” he says, but his eyes are on her lips, making her stomach twist. “That it?”

“Actually, Drip is a problem.”

And his eyes snap to hers, all business.

“You asked me to get people, I got people. You don’t get to have problems with em.”

“My name is on the door,” she snaps. “They’re my people, too, which means they need to respect me.”

“Then make em,” he says easily, shrugging.

“I tried, but he talks to me like I’m an infant. And it’s not just me, he’s awful to Gina too. He’s a sexist asshole, if you ask me.”

He stares at her, considering, then relents with a breath.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you going to fire him?”

He seems surprised.

“Naw.”

“So there’s space for misogyny in your organisation?” she questions testily.

“He a good driver.”

And she knows what that means. He knows the right routes and won’t get jumpy if he’s pulled over. Along with Gina and the rest, he’s also one of Rio’s few wholesome-looking people, which is just as important for his cover on the road as it is for here at the dealership.

Still.

“Your hiring and firing practices leave much to be desired.”

He smirks then tips forward so he can very overtly look down her blouse.

“Oh, yea, there’s a lot to be desired, alright.”

Her throat goes dry but she clears it.

“Stop twisting everything I say. And stop staring at my breasts.”

She lifts a hand to press him away from her, but he catches it smoothly and holds it firmly in his own.

“They inspirin me,” he informs her, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Think I got a solution for our delivery problem.”

“And what’s that?”

He cocks his head a little.

“You ever figure of thinkin a lil… _bigger_?”

And she gasps because he’s trailed her hand down to make her palm him.

But, seeing his smug expression, she forces herself to say something coherent.

“What do you mean?”

And then, just for payback’s sake, she begins stroking him through his jeans.

She’s rewarded with his eyes going slightly hazier as one of his hands tighten on her.

“Another lot,” he manages to answer, though it comes out breathy. 

And her hand stutters as she blinks up at him.

No, she hadn’t ever considered that.

Boland Motors had never been profitable enough for that. But they are now.

“I don’t know…”

“Why’s that?”

“The start-up costs would be huge.” And she rolls her eyes when he smirks, her hand having started up again. “More cars, new employees…”

“Hm,” he agrees. “You could handle it.”

And she smiles when he keens into her hand, but then he’s leaning all the way in, gunning for her lips, and she stops all ministrations as she turns her head away.

“ _I’ll think on it_. For now, I believe you have a misogynist to go not-fire.”

His stare is lethal but she holds her own and after a few seconds he steps back, nodding in displeasure before shooting a glance around her office.

“0 for 2 in this fuckin place,” he mutters before leaving.

He leaves her door open, so Beth watches through the window with a smirk as he exits and approaches Drip, vengeful jaw set in his place. She almost feels bad for the kid – she can practically guarantee he would’ve gotten a lighter rebuke if she hadn’t left Rio wanting. Then again, maybe that’s a happy accident, she thinks.

Until Rio walks right up to him and doesn’t even greet before smacking him upside the head so hard that the kid goes sprawling right into the pavement.

* * *

It’s a good thing the kids aren’t home, because that evening he finds her in the kitchen and, without preamble, kisses her till she’s hot and moaning then presses himself all the way into her.

And it’s just when she’s about to come that he shoves her hair away from her ear to growl into it.

“Next time we in that office o’ yours, we fuckin.”

* * *

* * *

**Drip: H-**

**Rio:**


	14. Even Better

Beth stares at the milk, her cheek clenched between her teeth.

“Too many choices?”

She turns to find a tall brunette behind her, with a square face and harsh features.

She’s smiling, though, eyes fairly kind, and even though Beth doesn’t really like people interrupting her shopping, she smiles.

“No, I just suspect one of my children may be a little intolerant,” she explains.

Emma’s been having stomach cramps lately and it had taken her a while to notice the pattern – especially with half the kids’ time spent at Dean’s – but now she thinks she’s figured it out.

The woman’s looking at her a bit strangely and Beth shifts over a little.

“I’m sorry, am I in your way?”

“Not at all,” she smiles tightly. “Actually, you’re who I’m looking for.”

Beth frowns. “Do we know each other?”

“Not yet.” And Beth’s heart rate quickens when she pulls out a badge. “Agent Ilze Spert, FBI. I believe you knew a colleague – of a sort – of mine, Agent Turner.”

Swallowing, Beth takes an involuntary step back.

“What do you want? I’m sure you know, all charges were dropped. I believe they said it was a mistrial waiting to happen.”

“Yes,” Spert nods, “Turner’s investigation was unprofessional, to say the least. He was obsessed with you and it soured everything from there. Fruit of the poisonous tree.”

And Beth exhales in relief.

“Well. I’m glad to hear your organisation finally admit to harassing an innocent woman.”

“Oh, I didn’t say you were innocent.”

Beth straights her spine; folds her arms over her chest.

“Then what _are_ you saying?”

“I’m saying you would be behind bars right now if Turner had run a clean investigation. I’m saying your ties to a Detroit kingpin are indefensible and I’m saying that this time you’re not going to get away with murder.” She smiles deliberately. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Beth tries not to appear as terrified as she feels, forcing a scoff.

“Does the FBI really not have anything better to do with its time and resources than dig in places it’s already found nothing?”

Spert steps forward, her voice low.

“That’s the difference between me and Turner. I don’t care about you, Beth Boland. You’re small fry and frankly, not worth me rolling out of bed in the morning, never mind worth a dig.”

“You want Rio,” Beth realises, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Bingo. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m sure we can keep it _just between us girls_ ,” she grins, mocking. But her face smooths out almost immediately, her eyes serious as she steps even closer. “I’m up for a promotion. I deserve that promotion. But I’m not the only one up for it, and when you’re in my field, you need to work thrice as hard as the men just to get anywhere. A big fish like Rio? That collar will get me there. He’s not just worth a dig, Beth, he’s worth the whole damn excavation. And Turner already did half the work.”

Beth stands motionless, chills going down her spine.

“You give me Rio on a silver platter, you won’t see a day of jail time and no one will ever bother you again, you have my word.”

And Beth can feel herself shaking, crumbling, but she forces herself to stay upright. 

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I knock you down like a domino and use you as a cautionary tale for the next one. And the next one and the next one, until your boss is just as locked up as you are.”

A shopper needs to pass them and Spert steps out of the way. Beth still doesn’t feel capable of moving.

After they’ve passed, Spert comes closer again, her voice low yet just as threatening.

“All roads lead to Rome. Rio’s going to prison, Beth, the only variable is whether you do too.”

“You don’t have anything on me,” she manages to choke out.

“Yet,” Spert smiles. “But I have time.”

And leads, of course. That’s what she’d meant by Turner having done half the work.

And those other dominoes – who are they? People in Rio’s organisation? Clients?

She’d called Rio a kingpin, which means she already knows the truth somehow; already knows how many avenues there are to his business. She just can’t prove it. Yet.

Beth clears her throat. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“It’s not a difficult decision, Beth. What do you think he’d do if the roles were reversed?”

She falters. Would he protect her? Put her needs in front of his?

“That’s a trick question,” Spert points out. “He’d shoot you in the back. In fact, he may still do that now.”

“You mean when he finds out I’m talking to the FBI?” she snaps.

Sperts holds up her hands.

“ _I_ didn’t tell you to get into bed with a gangster.”

Beth tries very hard not to flush at that, but Spert continues, unaware.

“What I _am_ telling you is that I can put that gangster away, along with everyone who poses a threat to you. So why don’t you have a think about whether you’d rather turn in a man who would end your life without a thought, or spend that life behind bars.”

She steps back, glancing at the milk behind Beth’s head.

“At least there you’ll never have the problem of too many options.”

* * *

“WHY. Why is a life of crime so stressful??” Annie complains, swinging her feet up onto the sofa.

Beth pushes them off with a glare.

“God, it feels like we _just_ got rid of Turner,” Ruby moans.

“Yeah, well, Spert’s nearly scarier.”

“Spert? God, what a name. High school was not kind on her, I can assure you.”

“Scarier how?” Ruby wonders.

“I don’t know, there was just something clinical about her. Like she didn’t care about me or this or any of us. Not even about Rio, really, just her promotion.”

“Well, I’d rather have a robot than the guy so obsessed with you that he stalked me to my _church_.”

“Zero FBI agents would be my preference,” Beth points out drily.

And they’re silent for a while as they ponder this, before Annie speaks up.

“Does she know about the syndicate?”

Oh god. That had bothered her all the way home.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t exactly ask her.”

“God, you’d think working for a syndicate would bring some perks,” Annie sighs.

“Who do you think was responsible for homeboy staying arrested for like five minutes after the Fine & Frugal drama?” Ruby points out.

“I meant perks for _us_.”

“We don’t get perks, Annie. We’re like one of his little gangs. We’re contractors. We’re foot soldiers! _He_ gets the perks.”

“Ugh. We should join a gang union, or something.”

Ruby rolls her eyes at this before turning back to a silent Beth.

“What _did_ Rio say?”

She nibbles on her lip before answering.

“I haven’t told him.”

Ruby and Annie exchange wide-eyed looks before regarding her.

“When are you gonna?”

“You’re going to, right?” Ruby checks.

And she hesitates for only a moment longer, second-guessing herself one last time, before shaking her head.

“Why not?”

“Yeah, this seems like the ideal time to involve our crime boss.”

“I can't, guys. The last time the FBI was involved, he freaked out on us.”

“ _Us_?”

“ _You_ , but I take your point,” Annie shrugs.

“He's used to looking out for himself and his business, so if there's a threat, that's the first thing he's gonna protect. We're at the bottom of the list.”

“Wow, you literally suck at screwing your way to the top.”

If looks could kill, her sister would be dead right now.

“Ok... Sure,” Ruby acknowledges. “Telling him probably puts us in trouble, but doesn't not telling him _definitely_ get us arrested? I mean, she’s not going to stop with just him, and we're _part_ of his operation. What about all those dominoes??”

“Remember the last time you asked if he was worried about the FBI?”

“Yeah. I believe his – very elegant – precise words were: 'Nuh'.”

“Exactly. Rio's crazy paranoid, so every step of his entire operation is designed to be FBI-proof. We're the loose ends,” she points out. “And I think we can all agree that we _do not_ want him tying us up.”

“Well, I can _definitely_ think of at least _one_ of us who may want that.” Beth glares daggers again, but Annie grins: “Come on, you make it too easy.”

“This isn't funny. We need to be more careful. No more mistakes. We need to assume they're always watching us.”

Beth and Annie look at each other, look back at Beth, then nod resolutely.

“Ok. We can do this.”

There's silence for a few long moments as they all seem to remember the myriad of mistakes they've made up until this point and wonder how exactly they're going to avoid them in future.

Then Beth takes a breath.

“…There’s something else.”

“Oh no,” Ruby presses her eyes closed.

“It’s not necessarily bad.”

“Really? Does your tone know that?”

“…I think I’m going to start a second Boland Motors.”

“Bitch, have you lost your mind??”

“What she said,” Annie juts a thumb.

“I can do it.”

“Can is different to should,” her sister points out. “Does gangfriend know about _this_?”

“It was his idea.”

“And now we’re in the habit of encouraging criminal masterminds’ bad ideas?” Ruby raises a brow.

“Technically we can’t even blame him for the idea being bad,” Annie points out, “since he doesn’t know about Spert.”

“Spert’s actually the reason I decided to do it.”

“Because naturally, when the FBI wants to shut down your criminal organisation and put you behind bars, your first response is ‘Time to branch out!’,” Ruby exclaims.

“Weren’t you the one _just_ talking about mistakes?” Annie agrees.

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” Beth shakes her head.

She’d taken a good few minutes to collect herself but, once in the car, she’d started thinking everything through. 

“A second dealership means way more leeway; more opportunities to fudge the numbers, less suspicion about the number of cars we have coming in and leaving, and even more legitimacy. Plus, it’s great advertising,” she says as persuasively as if she’s asking the bank for a loan. “People feel safer buying from well-established companies and a second branch gives us that well-established appearance. Plus, the bigger our legit business, the bigger the veil behind which we can hide our _illegitimate_ business. A second dealership makes the FBI’s investigation a shell game, and I don’t think Spert has all that many resources at her disposal, not after what happened with Turner. I got the idea that this is like her lone crusade or something, at least until she has solid evidence, and there’s no way it’s her only case. She can’t pay close enough attention to both dealerships at the same time to find anything.”

They both stare at her for several seconds.

Then Annie turns to Ruby.

“Yeah, she sold me on that. Hook, line and sinker.”

“How does she do that??” Ruby agrees. “How does she even think about all those things?”

Beth’s grinning, pretty proud of herself, but her sister can never just let her have her moment, can she, because she immediately decides to burst her bubble.

“So as a business partner you've clearly already _expertly_ rationalised lying to Rio – what about as a quasi-girlfriend?”

And she hates that Annie adds the _quasi_ , because it means she can't just brush it off by saying she's not his girlfriend.

God, she has no idea what they are.

Beth sighs. “I'm still working on it.”

* * *

She's looking over a recipe the next day when Rio walks in, through the front door no less.

His shirt is a dark grey and he immediately settles himself on one of the stools at the counter.

“Whatchu cookin?”

“Nothing, yet,” she shrugs. “Want a bourbon?”

It's only four but she doesn't have the kids tonight and Annie and Ruby are coming over later to watch the Real Housewives, so she figures she may as well start early.

He shakes his head. “Tea.”

She turns to switch on the kettle and is about to turn back when he speaks.

“You heard from the Feds recently?”

Beth freezes.

Then she forces herself to unfreeze, trying to inject calm into her spine and continue on as if he'd said nothing.

She goes to grab a cup and the tea Rio likes, clearing her throat in preparation for the lie. Why does her superpower always whack out on her when it comes to him?

“...No. Why, have you?”

“Naw, but a lil birdie told me Turner's got a replacement; someone sniffin around the city.”

His tone is casual; she doesn't think he'd picked up on any weirdness on her part.

She almost asks about his contact – he’d mentioned something like it before, when he’d known about Boomer being in protective custody; _Home court advantage_ , he’d called it – but then she remembers Schiller and his network.

“You think she – or he – will come after us again?” she asks instead, her back still to him as she busies herself.

“It ain't likely – you made that chickenshit look a real fuckin fool – but it's possible.”

She makes the tea and finally turns back around to pass it to him.

“So you've gotta be careful.”

“I'm always careful.”

She clasps her hands.

“Then I'll tell the girls we have to be careful.”

He nods, pleased that this isn't something he has to tell her.

“Good.”

She swallows down all her guilt, deciding she may as well get it all out there at once. 

“Also… I thought about it, and you were right.”

“I know. What about?”

He laughs when she glares.

“Another branch of the dealership makes sense.”

He nods again. “Good.”

“I’ve already started doing some research and narrowed it down to a few open lots.”

“Even better.”

It feels nearly too easy and she shifts her weight, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing happens. He gives the tea one blow then sips at it and she has to remind herself that he has no reason to be suspicious – the second lot had been _his_ idea.

Then, looking at the tea, she realises.

“You’re working tonight?”

“Yea.” His next words come slow, as slow as his smile: “What'd you have in mind?”

“Nothing, because _you're working tonight_.”

He laughs. “That's cold, ma.”

“Just like my bed is going to be,” she points out, brow raised stroppily.

With one look he abandons his tea and in two long strides he's in front of her, kissing her heatedly. Beth falls so deep into it that she has to shove him away; both hands on his chest, pushing him three steps from her.

He looks at her, licks his lips, then steps forward again right as she wraps her fingers into his shirt and pulls him back the rest of the way.

He groans into the kiss, free hand going to her waist and squeezing and, god, _why is he like this_.

Her hand is still fisted in his shirt and it takes everything she has to step away instead of unbuttoning it.

He doesn't let her go far but it ends the kiss, and he peers down at her with a mix of annoyance and intrigue.

He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth before speaking.

“Just a taste, huh?”

She shrugs, all faux innocence. “Maybe your shift ends early tonight.”

And his eyes light up for an instant before his forehead falls forward onto hers for a moment as he groans.

“I ain't comin back here tonight,” he grimaces.

She blinks back. “Oh.”

“It's gonna be real late; I'm sorry, mami.”

“What are you doing?”

Rio rocks back on his heels, eyes hardening.

“Takin care of somethin.”

“Something?”

He watches her. “Someone.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Oh, yea, you can say your prayers for em.”

She glares. “I meant about you.”

“Why would you worry about me?” he asks mockingly, knitting his brows together to mimic confusion.

Beth sighs long and hard, feeling helpless. Why did she have to become the _quasi-girlfriend_ of someone she can't even pretend she has any ability to protect?

“Because I'm an idiot.”

The mocking drops from his expression as Rio lets out a displeased breath.

“You a lot of things, Elizabeth, but you ain't that.”

Her brow rises. “A lot of things?”

And then the sombre mood is gone, his smirk immediately catching up to the moment.

“A fuckin tease, for one.”

Giggling, she gives him a shove.

“Get out of here.”

He laughs from his throat then steps in, close.

His lips are a hair's breadth away when he immediately retracts and takes a wide step away.

She glares. “Asshole.”

“Naw. An asshole would make you iron the shirt you ruined.”

Her eyes go down to where her hand had fisted and she scoffs.

“There's like one crease!”

He winks at her, grin roguish, and then he's gone out the back door.

* * *

“Beth, are you ok?”

“Uh huh.”

“You haven't laughed a single time this episode.”

Beth sighs, long and belaboured.

“Sorry, I'm distracted.”

Ruby mutes the TV.

“Is it about Spert?”

She hesitates, then: “Yeah.”

“Did you see her again?” Annie asks, now also frowning.

“No, but Rio's going to... take care of someone tonight, and I have this horrible feeling in my stomach.”

“ _Take care of someone_?” Ruby asks.

“He's ganking someone?” Annie confirms, wondrous. “Is it, like, an unruly employee or an associate or–”

“I don't have details, Annie!”

“But you think Spert's watching Rio?”

“She has to be, right?”

“Well, weren't you the one who said he's always careful?” Ruby points out helpfully.

“Yeah, remember when we thought he didn't know about Eddie and he totally did?”

That's true. But she's seen him when he loses it. It's rare, but in those moments he seems to go crazy; lose track of all his ingenious plans and contingencies.

They see her hesitate and Annie leans forward to pass Beth her phone.

“Here. Text him.”

“What? Why?”

“I don't know. Just tell him to be careful, or something.”

“He'll just say he's always careful,” Beth rolls her eyes.

There’s a moment of helpless silence before Ruby speaks up.

“Know what helps me?”

Beth shakes her head.

“When Stan comes home. I wait for it, even when he's on night shift. I mean, sure, sometimes I take a nap – a bitch needs her beauty sleep – but I can't really go to bed properly till I know he's home safe.”

Beth mulls this over then nods. It'll kill her not knowing how things are going, but it'd kill her even more coming up with a million different scenarios in which he'd gotten arrested. Worst of all, she wouldn't know until morning, if that.

So she opens their text thread and types.

**_Come back tonight. I don't care how far or late it is._ **

It's a big ask – a command, really – and she holds her breath. He doesn't take well to orders from her, but it's not like he'd taken her soft concern earlier to heart, either.

Still. She needs him to do it, not bristle and tell her to fuck off.

She's about to text some sort of explanatory follow-up when he replies, and it's simple.

**_Alright._ **

* * *

Beth's had two cups of decaf and is now sitting in bed nibbling at her lip.

She'd tried going to sleep twice, had picked up this week's book thrice and had lost count of how many times she'd gone to pee. But, still, no Rio.

She checks the clock.

3.12am.

Annie had given her a death glare before the girls had left, with the words _Don't call_. Ruby had nodded from behind her and so Beth hadn't. She'd picked up her phone half a dozen times, once or twice she'd even pulled up his number (which is saved in her phone as _Bounce house_ , something she hopes to god he never finds out), but she never ended up calling.

She's ready to chew through her entire lip, so she forces herself to stop, putting her head in her hands instead.

She needs a drink. She needs ten drinks. However many it will take to kill the niggling feeling in her stomach that he's either bleeding out or rotting in a jail cell somewhere.

Then there's a loud click and she looks up with a gasp.

He'd closed the door behind him and is now regarding her stricken expression with a frown.

“What's up, what happened?”

“N-nothing,” she stammers, realising that to him she must seem very silly. She clears her throat. “I'm glad you're back.”

“You shouldn'ta waited.”

_I had no choice_ , she wants to say, but of course she can't, so she just shrugs.

“Imma clean up, yea?”

He gestures to himself and she notices for the first time that the grey shirt is now dark in the middle, matted with what looks like blood.

Her eyes race across his body, but there aren't any visible wounds.

He shakes his head. “It ain't mine.”

She meets his eyes and swallows. His gaze is pointed, waiting for the judgement, but she doesn't say anything; asks no questions.

He jerks a thumb at the bathroom and she nods.

While he's gone, she prepares the bed and turns off the light then climbs in. It's not that long before he returns, wearing only his boxer briefs.

She passes a quick look of admiration over his body before flattening out on the bed and he follows suit, only he gets onto his stomach at an angle adjacent to her. He nuzzles into her chest, making her laugh, before laying his head down.

It's ridiculous to see him lying on her breasts like this – and so different from what they normally do – and yet, she can't lie, she adores it.

She tries not to show it, though, tries to wish away the dusting of pink on the apples of her cheeks as Rio looks at her, considering.

“So you was worried about me, huh?”

“I told you I was.”

Her hand comes up to caress his short hair. She still can barely believe he’s really here and ok.

If the touch is too intimate, he doesn’t say anything.

“Just like I told you you didn't need to be.”

“I just... had a feeling.”

She expects him to mock her, but after a moment of consideration, he nods seriously.

“I get it. I have em every now and then, too. Always listen to em.”

_He did_?

“Always?”

He nods. “Gut's never wrong, ma. You don't listen to it, you get dead.”

She's nodding along to this when she realises what he's implying.

“So something went wrong?”

He can't meet her eyes when he nods, a sigh escaping his lips wearily.

“Popped a kid who didn't have it comin. Got himself caught up in some stuff he shouldn'ta been caught up in. Tried to help out the moron we was tryin to set straight.”

“Oh my god,” she presses her eyes closed.

When she can open them again, she realises he doesn't look much better.

“Are you ok?”

He looks surprised.

“ _Me_?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed.

“I know you're a ‘hardened criminal’ and all, but–”

_But, what_? Murder is murder and it can still cause PTSD? It sounds like a line straight from a suburbia therapist even to herself.

“…You don't look ok,” she finishes eventually.

Rio lets out a hard breath, shifting a little.

“He couldn'ta been over 19. Fuck.”

He turns his face into her chest, like he wants to hide from even himself, and somehow she knows he's thinking about Marcus; about the son-less parents he'd left somewhere out there.

That’s when his words come back to her.

_I know it’s lonely at the top._

Where does he normally go when he gets like this; who does he normally have to turn to?

Beth’s mind races, trying to think of anyone he’s mentioned in the past who he could conceivably confide in about both his business and any emotion attached to it, but she comes up empty.

And the thought of him having no one makes her feel even worse than the thought of him having anyone but her.

She reaches for his hand and sees a few scuff marks there but puts it out of her mind, wrapping her fingers around his tough knuckles.

He settles his gaze on her and she squeezes a little.

“Do you want a drink?”

He seems to consider it, but then his eyes dart to the clock and he shakes his head.

“Naw. I want this day to be over.”

She looks at him; at the circles beneath his eyes and the exhausted slant of his mouth. He looks so damn finished and she wants to make it better.

“We could do that.”

“We could do that?” he asks, only half mocking.

And she nods without heat because she knows it's his weird way of trying to recover from his moment of vulnerability.

“Then let's do it, then.”

He settles on his back and she curls in closer to him than ever before, her lips brushing his shoulder and her hand on his chest. After a second of hesitation, he covers it with his.

And it's the first night they sleep together without having slept together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verrrrry curious to hear your thoughts 👀 #BethMakesBadChoices should maybe become the hashtag for this story, lol


	15. Good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry this took a while. Here's what happened: Beth and Rio. These two idiots, I swear. I wrote their scene and then they were telling me 'Nah, this is too revealing. I wouldn't say this.' So I re-wrote. And then it happened again. And again. I started over four different times, each time stripping it down even more and so frustrated by these human communication disasters refusing to say what they needed to say. Buuuuut I finally (finally) got there, and I hope you'll enjoy xx

“You got a 911 text too?” Beth asks when Ruby walks into the lounge.

“Yeah,” she answers, rolling her eyes a little. Then, spotting the coffee Beth had prepared: “Bless you.”

“No problem. I’m on my third.”

She already feels like she’s running on empty and after this she still has to go in to the office for a few hours.

“He came back?” Ruby asks, pouring herself a cup.

Beth nods. “After 3.”

“He’s not still here, is he?” She casts a suspicious eye around, like he’s about to pop out from behind the TV.

“No, he had a work thing.”

He’d texted her to let her know. He hadn’t woken her, and she’s trying not to let it bother her.

Ruby nods and for a while they just sip at their coffees.

Then: “You still sure you wanna keep Spert a secret from him?”

“You don’t think my logic checks out?” she asks over the rim of her cup, frowning.

“Oh, it checks out. It always checks out. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna end well. And–”

But she cuts herself off, and Beth narrows her eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “You can never keep all your ‘truth’ to yourself.”

She rolls her eyes too. Then she sighs heavily. 

“Before last night, I was worried. Now I’m straight up terrified for you. Beth, it’s not just the way you look at him or the way you talk about him, it’s… everything. You worry about him. That’s why I brought up Stan – you were worried on the level I normally am for my _husband_.”

Beth wants to deny this, but she struggles for any words that will do the job – anything that will refute her fear to the point of nausea; the relief to the point of not caring that he’d had an innocent murdered. Running her hand over his hair. Squeezing his knuckles. Pressing her hand to his chest and falling asleep that way, knowing that he was there and safe with her. The only way she’d been able to fall asleep.

“You _care_ about him. And that means all of this ending well is just as important to you as it is impossible.”

Beth falters, speechless, but thankfully her sister saves her from responding, storming into the house like a bat out of hell.

“Ugh, thank god you guys are here!”

They both turn.

“What happened?”

Annie throws up her hands.

“Spert happened!”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah! She came to the store. Pretended she wanted to buy some candy. Turned out the only thing she wanted to sink her teeth into was me!”

“Yeah, she likes that trick,” Beth sighs.

“What did she say?”

“All the same kinds of stuff she told Beth. Wants us to roll on Rio and that there’s no candy where I’m going. Except she’s wrong!” Annie exclaims. “In prison, _I_ would be the candy! Fun-sized, too!”

“Have you considered that you’re maybe freaking out just a little too much?” Ruby posits, and Beth nods in agreement.

“Um, _no_ , an FBI agent came to my _place of work_ and told me I’m going to prison until my son’s finished with college – I think I’m freaking out just the right amount!”

“She _wants_ you to freak out,” Beth points out. “We talked about this yesterday. We all just need to stay calm and level-headed and we’ll be fine.”

“See, that’s funny, because right now your calm is making me want to punch something. Specifically, you!”

“Oh, I know what she’s doing!” Ruby gasps, and they both turn to her. “Turner had dossiers on us, right? He must’ve done reports on each of us. He knew I was the one with the most soft spots; knew to get me at church and threaten me with Stan…”

Beth sees where she’s going.

“And he knew Annie was the volatile one because–” Beth gasps. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner!”

“What?” they both wonder.

“I know exactly what we need to do.”

“And that is…”

She turns to her sister.

“You need to call Noah.”

“ _What_?” Her eyes round. “Nooooooooo. Beth! We haven’t spoken in months!”

“You have to.”

“Why do _I_ always have to be the one falling on my sword and going to talk to my exes?”

“We’ve been over this: you know how to pick em.”

“Says the one dating a crime lord,” Annie mutters.

“Why does she have to call Noah?”

“We need to know more about Spert,” Beth points out. “Can we trust her? Is she just toying with us and actually wants to put us all away?”

“So, like, will this really all end if we give her Rio?” Ruby confirms.

“Well, we’re not doing that, but yes, basically.”

“And remind me why we’re not doing that?” Annie presses. “Because he’s the guy you’re boinking?”

Beth flushes. “I’m thinking about our business.”

“Oh, you’re thinking about _somebody’s_ business.”

“Gross,” Ruby ruffles her nose.

“Look, you know I love a gangfriend, and your on-again off-again romance is sweet and all, but none of that is worth going to prison for, and that agent is no joke. Plus, she has a _really_ scary voice,” Annie complains.

Beth folds her arms.

“If this were about Rio, would I be keeping it a secret from him? I’m trying to look out for _us_.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then: “I agree with Beth.”

“ _Shocker_ ,” Annie scoffs.

“Do you have another business opportunity for us? Because I just quit my job. And yours practically pays you in candy. And if you’d take a second to stop spiralling, you’d remember that the last time we were washing cash through the school, we were _just_ making ends meet. Besides, what’s to stop Spert from arresting Rio and then coming after us? We are _part_ of the organisation she’s trying to take down.”

This seems to stump Annie, and Beth takes the opportunity.

“Exactly. So talk to Noah.”

“Ugh. FINE. I’ll do it tomorrow; I have a shift after this.”

* * *

“That’s ok for you?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Alright, then. Tomorrow morning at ten. By 11am, you’ll be a free woman.”

Beth grants her lawyer a small laugh, says goodbye then ends the call.

She’s texting the girls to inform them about it when Enya knocks then enters.

“Ms Boland?” her secretary asks.

“Uh huh?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, noting Beth’s diverted concentration. “Um, Drip wanted to come in and see you.”

“Oh,” Beth frowns.

“Should I send him in?”

“Sure. Yes. Thanks, Enya.”

Her secretary grins then disappears, quickly replaced by Rio’s scrawny delivery driver.

“Good morning, Ms Boland.”

She notes two things: One – he’s wearing a huge bandage on his nose. Two – he can barely meet her eyes, alternating between darting to look at her and staring at the floor.

She hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do with this total personality 180.

Then: “What is it I can help you with?”

He steps forward as if to sit then seems to think better of it, stepping back again.

“Just wanted to apologise. For the way I’ve been treatin you. It was disrespectful… and unprofessional and… yeah.” He seems to have run out of adjectives. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

His eyes lift to meet hers, entreating, and it makes Beth lose her breath. 

What on earth had Rio said to him?

She clears her throat. “Well. I really appreciate that, Drip.”

“Oh, it’s Jack.”

“Excuse me?”

He fidgets. “I remembered you saying you wanted us to have, like… normal names? I picked Jack.”

“Oh. Well, I appreciate you remembering that and picking one… _Jack_.”

He nods a little, looking very nervous.

“Um, can I go now?”

“Of course.”

He turns, but she stops him.

“Jack.”

He pauses.

“Is it broken?” she asks, gesturing towards her own nose.

“Yeah. It’s ok, though. Don’t worry about it, Ms Boland. Totally ok. Thank you for ya time.”

And then he exits, leaving an astounded Beth behind.

She takes a moment to relive those few minutes straight out of The Twilight Zone before dialling.

“Hey, mami,” Rio drawls.

“Guess who just came grovelling.”

He laughs a little. “Drip?”

“Actually, he goes by Jack now.”

“Yeah? I knock all the drip outta him?”

She laughs even as she rolls her eyes. “ _No_. I asked them all to have consumer-facing names and he finally picked one.”

“I see.”

She nibbles on the inside of her cheek.

“You know, you didn’t have to scare him that much.”

Had it been really satisfying? Yes. Had she also felt incredibly guilty, especially after finding out Rio had broken his nose? _Yeah._

“He was terrified just talking to me.”

“Right, right; remind me how far _you_ were gettin with him?”

She huffs. “My methods not working doesn’t justify yours.”

“Yea, you keep tellin yourself that.”

She wishes she could glare at him.

But, she has to admit, she’s curious: “What did you say to him, anyway?”

“That what he does reflects back on me and does he think I don’t respect women?”

She can’t help it, she barks out a laugh.

“And what did he say to that?”

“ _O-of c-course not, s-sir_ ,” he mock-mimics.

“You’re awful,” she says, but she’s laughing.

“So he apologised?”

“Hm-hmm.”

“Cool. You good?”

“Yes – I think I could get him to lick my shoes now, if I asked.”

He chuckles. “You do that, mami.”

She bites on her lip.

“You know, I’m in my office right now…”

There’s a short silence.

“That a fact?”

“Hm-mm. Where are you?”

“On the other fuckin side of town,” he groans.

Smirking, she decides to tease him.

“Maybe I should start keeping a vibrator in my desk drawer...”

“Only if it's for us to play wit',” he grunts, and flames lick up the inside of her thighs.

“Tonight?” she asks, breathy.

“Workin.”

The one word shatters the entire mood and Beth sits up straight, clearing her throat.

“Ok.”

He sniggers. “Your mouth said ok and your tone said fuck you.”

She glares as if he’s in front of her.

“It did not.”

“Uh huh. You wanna dance around it some more then eventually spit it out, or you wanna save us both some time and just tell me what’s wrong?”

She hesitates for only a moment before speaking.

“You had to go to work this morning.”

There’s silence, him likely trying to work out whether this is the dancing around or the admission.

“Yea,” he finally replies, wary.

“You didn’t wake me,” she continues, tone as cool as she can manage.

“Was early,” he replies easily.

“That's never been a problem before.”

“Had you up late.”

And that's true, he _had_ only come in past 3am, so if he'd left around 6, it wouldn't have been the same as the other nights.

Still, it’s not lost on her that the one night he’d been the most vulnerable with her was also the night preceding the first morning he hadn’t woken her to say goodbye.

“The other night – why did you go drinking before work?”

The silence ticks on for longer this time and Beth waits, more and more anxious with each quiet second that passes.

After what feels like an hour, Rio speaks, voice gruff.

“That important?”

She hesitates too, but only for a second.

“It is if it’s because I asked you about Marina.”

His sigh is low but heavy; long.

“It ain’t like that.”

It throws her for a loop for a second, before she realises what he must be thinking.

“I’m not jealous, Rio,” she near-scoffs. “I’m… trying to understand you.”

“So you can know one more thing about me than you did yesterday?” he asks, voice thick with derision.

“What if I said yes?” she snaps.

God, why does he make finding out anything real about him so difficult?

Why does it bother her so much??

_You care about him._

“You know what your problem is?”

“Starts with an R, ends with an 'io'?”

“You think I'm way more interesting than I am,” he finishes, not bothering to address her snark.

It takes her back to that day: _Naw, you’re way more interesting than that_.

It had shaken her. It had taught her. About the way he saw the world; about the way he saw _her_.

He’d created a dichotomy between good and interesting like it was obvious, like it was the way the world worked. She seems to think he’ll always find a way to alter her perspective; to re-shape and re-form her world anew.

“I seriously doubt that.”

He snorts lightly. “And what's gonna happen when you run out, huh? What then?”

“Well, at this rate, that'll only happen in the year 3050, so I think we're safe.”

“Told you there ain't nothin safe about us, mami.”

She lets his words hang in the air for a long moment before finally drumming up the courage to say what they make her think.

It comes out soft, though, nearly inaudible.

“Will there ever be?”

It’s ironic, isn’t it? She’d started out trying to make him admit to his vulnerability and now here she is, admitting to hers. But, she remembers, he’ll never give an inch without taking a mile. His cut first, always.

“Ask for it and it’s yours, darlin,” he taunts. “All that matters is what you want, ‘member?”

Beth closes her eyes, a small breath escaping her lips.

Sometimes he so overtly stonewalls her, and then sometimes it’s this – this glass window of communication that looks capable of opening but is actually glued shut; where anything real gets torn from your grasp, but lightly, invisibly, as if by a breeze, leaving you wondering if you’d had it at all to begin with.

“Ok.” Then, smiling a little in spite of herself: “Fuck you.”

He laughs a little under his breath before silence falls.

Surprisingly, though, he fills it.

“You want me to come over tonight?”

She's not quite sure if he's offering to skip work or come after it, but it instantly fills her up and warms her. It feels like his small way of acknowledging her frustration – and though it’s not anywhere near enough, it’s _something_.

“No,” she says, though, clearing her throat. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

He lets out a little amused breath at her throwing his words back at him.

But there’s still something uncomfortable in the air, something unsaid. (Isn’t everything?)

After another few seconds, Rio speaks.

“We good?”

Beth chews on her lip, remembering the lesson she’d learned that night on the terrace.

He won’t let her in when she tries. He never does anything on her terms.

She’d thought they’d moved past that, but it turns out they hadn’t. And she’s not sure they ever will.

Repressing a sigh, she nods.

“We’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But... are they?


	16. Want

Beth’s wiping her nose with her fiftieth tissue for the day when Rio steps in.

She immediately clambers up in bed, wishing he would ever have the decency to inform her when he’s coming round – if not to afford her the chance to change out of her pajamas, then at least to clean up the sea of tissues littered around her.

“You still in bed,” he says, confused; accusatory.

She clears her throat, desperate for some semblance of respectability when she must look like she’s in the throes of something viral.

“I’m taking the day off.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

She deliberately doesn’t look at him, opting to start moving all the tissues to one corner of the bed, in case he wants to sit.

If she’d deliberately been keeping it from him, she can no longer.

“We signed the divorce papers this morning. It’s official.”

He doesn’t sit, just stares.

“Ain’t you supposed to be out celebratin then?”

“...Maybe someday.” The tissues moved, she lowers back down so her head is propped against the headboard. “For now I’m wallowing in my failure.”

“Failure in not getting rid of that moron sooner?”

She gives him a look then sighs.

“I just… never imagined I’d be a divorcee. God, I’m 43 years old, single with four children, and I have no taxable income.”

“Who the fuck wants to pay taxes?”

“That’s not the point.”

The point is she has no prospects. If Rio disappears again… what will she do? The divorce had given her shares in the dealership, sure, but it’s not exactly like it had been raking it in before the counterfeit money and the pills.

And while it’s great that she’d gotten the house, it’s also a huge responsibility that comes with all sorts of bills and maintenance. The money he’d left for her in storage won’t last forever.

She’d given up a life of certain unhappiness for a life of uncertain… what? Happiness? Beth isn’t sure.

Her and Rio’s conversation yesterday had left her more unsure than ever about what the hell she’s doing with her life.

Dean had been thinking it, too. This time he hadn’t said anything, but she’d seen it in his eyes this morning. Heard his voice as clearly as if she was right back in that night.

_What are you doing, Beth?_

And so she’d cried and cried and generally just felt very sorry for herself, wondering whether she could’ve saved it if she’d tried sooner. Wondering if it was her fault that they’d ever begun. Wondering if she’d wasted her life.

“A’ight, well Imma leave you wit’ all o’ this, then,” he gestures around at the tissues.

He heads for the door and Beth clears her throat.

“I’m not going to be home tonight.” He pauses. “Just so you know.”

She doesn’t know what _they’re_ doing, either. Does he sleep here every night now? He hadn’t been planning on coming last night, but then he’d offered to. And the night before, he’d only come because she’d asked him to.

So she’s hesitant to imply that he would’ve stayed over again tonight, but she also doesn’t want him waiting on her in vain. It might cause him to stop coming around altogether, and the thought shoots ice water into her veins.

She’d spent last night tossing and turning, drowning in the large too-cold bed.

When Rio turns back, stepping closer, it reminds her of that morning she’d fantasised about him staring down at her just like this – pensive, with something unreadable behind his eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Whatchu up to?”

“We’re doing dinner at Dean’s place. Like a reassurance to the kids,” she explains, “so they’ll know everything’s still ok despite the divorce.”

She isn’t sure exactly how late it’s going to go, but she knows she wants to be there to help Dean tuck the kids in; tell them bedtime stories if needed.

“A reassurance dinner,” he repeats, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.

She decides to ignore the tone.

“Yes. And I’ll talk to Dean about the new lot,” she tries to make it sound professional.

It’s not, really. She needs the closure. Needs to see her family – twenty years of work – in its entirety one last time. Needs to wallow in it.

And, moreover, she wants her children to feel secure. If there’s anyone who knows how important security is to a child, it’s her. Her entire childhood, it’s all she’d craved. And, god, this morning she’d signed it all away. Which leads her right back to wallowing.

“Why’s it any of his fuckin business?”

She sighs. “He still owns the dealership, Rio.”

“Yea, we gotta do sum’n about that.”

And this makes her glare.

“That was his dad’s dealership. I can’t take that from him.”

She’d agreed to only 15% of the shares for that exact reason.

Rio snorts lightly. “Bet his old man was a dirtbag too.”

“He passed,” she points out, assuming he knows not to speak ill of the dead.

“Yeah? Can he come fetch his dumbass son?”

And her glare comes with a familiar question: “What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighbourhood. Drove by. Saw your momma van.”

“You were _in the neighbourhood_?” she cocks a brow.

“What, I can’t be in your prim lil neighbourhood?”

“No, but… why would you be? Don’t you hate it here?”

“Why’dja you think that?”

She frowns. “So, then… you like it here?”

It hadn’t escaped her that his last place had been in Midtown, making her feel insecure about her slice of cookie-cutter suburbia.

As if they weren’t worlds apart already.

Rio takes a second, looks about; rolls his shoulders.

“It’s a’ight. Got a good Kroger.”

It makes her smile for some reason.

“So you were, what? Out buying eggs? Or another duvet cover?” she teases.

Despite how much more she’s seen of him now – cooking and in a domestic setting, even, with his son – it still seems incongruous to think of him doing normal everyday things like going grocery shopping.

“Yeah,” Rio snorts, “seeing as how you gotta set this one on fire now, along wit’ all o’ them tissues.”

She pinks and he looks amused, tickled as always by making fun of her.

It’s his first real readable expression and it has her biting on inside of her cheek, hesitating.

Then, without warning, she blurts it out.

“I’m looking at a lot tomorrow.” She swallows; takes a moment. “It’s a front-runner.”

He regards her, eyes steady and illegible once more as he clasps his hands loosely in front of him.

“You want me to come?”

She feels shy admitting to it, but the fact that he’d offered – that he knew what she wanted and for once hadn’t made her chase or beg – fills her with a strange sort of elation that overcomes it.

“I do.”

He stares for a second longer before nodding, turning.

“Cool. Text me the info.”

And then he’s gone and Beth tries to settle back in to her wallowing but finds that she can’t, it’s no use. She feels light as air; warm, happy.

* * *

Annie and Ruby come in while she’s icing cupcakes.

She’d been in too good of a mood to continue doing nothing, so she’d done a load of laundry and then figured she’d whip up some dessert for tonight, something the kids would like.

“How’d the signing go?” Ruby wonders.

“It was ok.”

“And you didn’t have a breakdown?” Annie looks at her suspiciously.

Beth tries to keep her tone light: “Rio came over.”

“God, does that man have a magic penis or something?”

Beth rolls her eyes. “We didn’t have sex.”

“So did you, like, cuddle or something?” Annie scrunches up her nose in disgust.

“We don’t _cuddle_ – you know what, can we get to why you’re here? Did you call Noah?”

“Ugh. Yes.”

“How’d it go?” Ruby asks.

“It was terrible. So awkward! I mean he kept sounding so sweet and asking about Sadie and how I’m doing and am I _sure_ I’m ok. _Ugh_.”

She lays her head in her hands and Beth meets Ruby’s eyes. Ruby points at her and she shakes her head vehemently at her best friend.

Ruby glares and she glares back, which continues for some time, before Ruby finally lays a hand on Annie’s back.

“That sounds terrible,” Ruby says with her _voice_.

Because here’s the thing: Annie’s had about a thousand romances that go just like this. She falls hard and fast, within two months it’s over, and then she has a mourning period just as intense and quick before moving on to the next one. It makes it hard to develop real sympathy for her breakups every other month, so she and Ruby both have very manufactured, practised voices that they use.

“It’s just like he was trying to hint that he wanted me to ask him to come back, you know?” Annie adds, her voice muffled.

“Uh huh,” Ruby says, still using her voice, rubbing Annie’s back.

And Beth glares, her mouth all scrunched up.

 _Damn you_ , she hopes her eyes say, which makes Ruby grin. She’d gone in as the sympathetic one and now Beth needed to be the villain.

She clears her throat. “So about Spert…”

Annie’s head darts up, fury in her eyes, and Ruby scoffs.

“Really, Beth? Is now _really_ the time?”

Beth can tell she’s just barely holding back laughter, though her features are composed into genuine outrage on Annie’s behalf.

“I hate you.”

And then Ruby does break, chuckling as Beth glares and Annie huffs.

“ _Yes_ , I asked him about Spert.”

“I’d hope so,” Beth points out. “What did he say?”

Annie shrugs, like this was the least important part of the phone call – which, she really doesn’t understand her sister’s prioritising sometimes. Ok, like most of the time.

“He said she’s a straight shooter and really well-respected for it. Has a huge network of criminal informants because of it, too. Plus that she’s a real ladder-climber.”

Beth blinks.

All of that checks out; is exactly what Spert had said. She really just wants the collar for her promotion.

“Interesting…” Ruby says with a frown, trying to gauge Beth’s reaction. “So what do we think?”

But Beth shakes her head.

“Don’t you have any sensitivity, Ruby? She’s clearly going through something and we need to be there for her.” And, as Ruby’s jaw drops, Beth reaches for one of the iced treats. “Want a cupcake, Annie?”

* * *

Rio’s been driving around for over an hour, not really going anywhere.

He’s annoyed as hell.

And he’s annoyed that he’s annoyed, because it shouldn’t bother him.

He shouldn’t give a shit about her being that upset about her divorce. He shouldn’t give a shit that she hadn’t even told him she was gettin that done today. He shouldn’t give a shit that she’d defended that moron to him. And he definitely shouldn’t give a shit that she’s goin there for dinner, acting like some happy family with that cheater.

But, fuck, he does.

Every time he thinks he’s in control, she takes it from him, and he ain’t even sure if she does it on purpose or not.

He ain’t sure about a lotta things and the truth is, she scares the shit outta him.

‘Cause here's the thing about Elizabeth Boland: He can’t put her out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

He thinks about her before bed; in bed.

He thinks about _being with her_ in bed – or in her bathroom, or the couch, or the kitchen or her fuckin armchair. Shit. Just remembering her huge breasts jerking, jumping, as she bounces on his cock makes his head wanna explode.

He thinks about her in front of her pots, confident and sassy. She thinks she’s in her element in her kitchen and he likes the way she wears it; likes licking it from her chest and sucking it onto his tongue.

He thinks about her laughing at his dumb jokes. (Her nose scrunches – it’s stupid cute.)

He thinks about the things she says when they’re fucking – _Please, god, I want you. Rio, I want you;_ _Come in me, Rio. Do it, come inside me –_ and how fuckin wet she gets for him; the way she’d traced her tongue over his tattoo. The wet spot she’d left on his jeans and the way she’d palmed him through them.

He thinks about her little moans when they kiss.

He thinks about her ass in them jeans – the tight ones and the soft ones that she seems weirdly embarrassed about. Her blush only deepening when he pulls them off and he gets on his knees for her. She never seems to know what to do with it and he’s more than willing to show her – _Open wider for me, baby._ Fuck, she tastes good. And when she’s trembling around his tongue, making that _sound_ from her throat, it gets him almost unbearably hard.

He thinks about her addictive damn lips and the way her smile is like a ray of sunlight and a strike of lightning all at once.

He thinks about her when he’s bombed; when he’s sober. One drink and he wants just the usual: to be with her, wherever she is, whatever. Teasin her, making her blush. Two drinks and he wants on top of her, pullin her hair, whatever; as long as he’s inside her. Three and she’s pushing him down, riding him till he can’t remember his own name. Four, five, six, it don’t really matter; it never changes. He wants her and her only, nobody else, even when there ain’t no lack of options.

He’s always fucking thinkin about her and it ain’t right; it can’t go this way.

He’s never had this much of an issue keeping focus, and it’s dangerous. In his line of work you gottta be clear-headed, always, and Elizabeth’s a cloud – one of em Vape ones those fuckin assholes smoke, that smell like marshmallows and blind you.

But it ain’t just about work or even staying clear-headed. She’s dangerous because of the way he can't stop how he feels with her nestled against him, her hand on his chest. Her palm caressing the back of his head. Her fingers squeezing his knuckles.

 _We could do that_ , she’d said and changed the whole fucking game like it wasn’t no thing.

Like the dead kid meant nothing, like his bloodied shirt in her prim bathroom meant nothing; like nothin besides them meant anything.

_Should I be worried? I meant about you._

_I'm glad you're back._

_Are you ok?_

Him, him, him. He’d fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Ate it up.

Wanted it too damn much. Wanted _her_ too damn much.

That’s what it all boils down to, ain’t it?

He wants her, like a damn idiot.

He don’t believe in wanting anythin you can’t buy – at least, not as much as he wants her.

‘Cause that kinda want, it controls you. Takes away your power. Your ability to not do dumb shit.

And he’s done a lotta dumb shit recently. But walkin in there to see her crying over that piece of shit, then actually gettin in his feelings about it? There ain’t any dumber.

Still.

Even knowing how stupid it is, he can’t stop the fury burning through his bones. ‘Cause _him, him, him_ had sure changed real quick, hadn’t it?

_He still owns the dealership, Rio._

_That was his dad’s dealership. I can’t take that from him._

Defending that fuckin fool to him. Spending the evening over at his place. ‘His place’ – the place _she’d bought_ for him with Rio’s fuckin money.

And naw, it don’t escape him that even angry, he’s still _thinking_ about her.

Muttering a string of curse words, Rio pulls over and turns off the car.

There’s only one person who’s gonna get him outta this. Pulling out his phone, he dials then waits for a few rings before Marina answers.

“He there?” he asks.

He hears her call out and after a few seconds, his lil man answers.

“Hi, daddy.”

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong?”

Sometimes he swears his kid is either an empath or straight up psychic.

“I miss you.”

“Ok. What else is wrong?”

See?

He sighs. “I’m mad about somethin I don’t wanna be mad about.”

“How come?”

Rio takes a second to figure out how to explain it.

Then: “You ever want somethin and not want it at the same time? Then someone takes it away and you realise you did want it?”

It’s so fucked up, is the thing. She’s an equation he doesn’t know how to solve.

He has to keep one foot out, always, and then she _treats_ him like he has one foot out and it makes him so damn irate, so desperate to be all the way in.

_I’m not going to be home tonight._

_No. I’ll see you when I see you._

“Like last summer when you sent my scooter back?”

And that makes him laugh, remembering them unboxing the scooter together and Rio promptly deciding the thing was a fuckin death trap his son wasn’t getting anywhere near.

Marcus had been mad for a week.

“Said you could have one when you 13, didn’t I?”

“Why can’t I have _a car_ when I’m 13?”

“Damn, you already gonna have a job when you 13? Or is daycare financing vehicles now?”

“Daaaaad,” he whines. “Chad’s dad said he’d buy him a car one day.”

“Yeah, you should never start a sentence with ‘Chad’ and think it’s gonna get you anywhere.”

Chads are assholes, Rio doesn’t make the rules.

This prompts Marcus to launch into a story about Chad that proves exactly that, which snowballs into another school story, and soon Rio’s all updated on the lives of fourth graders.

“Aren’t you working today?” Marcus finally wonders.

“Yeah, I am.” He checks the time on the dash. “Supposed to be there right now, actually.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“’Cuz I’m still mad,” he admits.

“Do you wanna come over?”

“Nah, kid, I can’t.”

“We could watch Green Arrow.”

“You heard the part about me havin to go to work, right?”

“But you’re the boss.”

“That’s right.”

“But you still have to go to work?”

“Exactly.”

“Even when you’re sad?”

“Said I was mad, not sad.”

“You wouldn’t have called me if you were mad.”

Which is… right on the money, and he hates it.

He’s frustrated, and mostly with himself.

“You too smart for your own damn good.”

“I know.”

“Oh, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Colleges don’t like cocky kids, ya know.”

“How am I gonna afford college when you won’t go to work?”

He chuckles before putting on an exaggerated teary voice.

“ _But I’m sad_ , Pop.”

And Marcus laughs a little, but quickly reverts to empath mode, sighing.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

“It’s ok, kid. I ain’t really sad, just frustrated. That’s life sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he bemoans. Then: “Can we have pizza tomorrow night?”

And Rio’s laughing again, hard. From empath to hungry nine-year-old in point two-five fuckin seconds.

“You my favourite person in the world, you know that?”

“Will you buy your favourite person in the world a car when he’s 13?”

And that makes Rio shake with laughter all over again. His kid’s got hustle, he’ll give him that.

“Nice try.”

“14?”

“Still no.”

“16?”

“Tell you what: if you still ain’t got a job by 30, you can have your mom’s car and I’ll get her somethin new, how’s that?”

“This is how villains are created,” Marcus points out, voice dead serious, and it has Rio chuckling again.

“Oh, yeah? The Green Arrow faced off against a kid whose amazin dad didn’t get him a car?”

“Not _yet_.”

He shakes his head, laughing some more. The kid really is his own lil mood-booster. 

“A’ight, I gotta go now, Pop.”

“Ok. Pizza?”

“Making or ordering?”

“Makinggg,” Marcus near-trills. 

“Why the hell’d I think installing a pizza oven was a good idea?” He shakes his head as Marcus giggles. “A’ight, I’ll drop by the shop later. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“Cool.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

There’s a short moment of silence before Marcus speaks again.

“Maybe… if you tell your scooter you like it, nobody will be able to take it away again.”

Fuckin psychic.

* * *

He’s thinking about pizza ingredients when he walks into the warehouse and everybody immediately goes silent.

He frowns. “Whatsup?”

They all seem to exchange glances before Demon comes up to him, eyes grave.

“Call came in for a meeting tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m doin something else," Rio shakes his head, "it’s gonna have to wait.”

Demon shifts then lets out a breath.

“The person who wants to meet is Nico.”

* * *

* * *

**Marcus’ unwanted then wanted-and-returned 'deathtrap' scooter:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left of this part! I can't wait to hear what you guys think is going to happen 😆
> 
> Also, Rio going on an angsty drive is apparently (and accidentally) becoming a regular feature of every installment in this series 😂 Really hope you're still enjoying his POV! I kinda loved just writing him and his son chatting for chatting's sake xx


	17. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's been a while! This week got away from me a bit. But here we are at the last chapter. Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks and whatnot (😜), they continue to keep me going and inspire me <3

“I been felt up less by the TSA,” he glares at Nico’s guy, who has no reaction.

He doesn’t blame him, for either. Nico _should_ be making damn sure he has no weapons, ‘cuz he wouldn’t make it through a minute alive otherwise.

Shit, he’d kill him with his bare hands if given the opportunity. He ain’t ruling it out for right now either.

Nico’s guy nods for him to go through and Rio gives Demon a look – who returns it with a nod – before pushing aside the plastic butchery-type curtains that lead out into a huge exposed warehouse. There are four brick pillars but otherwise there’s not a single place to hide; all flat open space.

Again, it’s clever. No weapons. One guy each. Nowhere to hide anythin.

There are two steel chairs and Rio sits on the one facing the curtains. He spreads out his legs then folds his hands into his lap, tryin to exude calm.

Nico don’t exactly bring out the best in him, and he doesn’t want him getting under his skin.

He waits.

After a few minutes, Nico comes out through the curtains and Rio’s eyes dance over him. He knows Demon woulda done a thorough job searching him, but he don’t trust Nico as far as he can throw him. 

“Rio,” he smiles, all friendly. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Rio agrees. “Thought I’d have you in the ground sooner.”

His smile stiffens as he strides towards him, but it’s miniscule.

Nico’s whole game is composure, but Rio knows him too damn well to fall for it.

“Do you remember those times Schiller had us work together?” he asks, faux-nostalgic. “We made a good team.”

His eyes burn holes in the man opposite him.

“I remember _a lotta_ things, Nico.”

“We could’ve been a good team again,” he returns coolly. “Accomplished so much.”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda. What the fuck do you want?”

He sits, eyes serious.

“A truce.”

Rio bursts into laughter.

“You a comedian now??”

Nico spreads his hands. “I’m willing to be generous. What do you want?”

“Your head on a plate,” Rio deadpans, all humour gone.

And his face is passive, but Rio knows it bothers him. One of his hands draws a circle on his dad-fuckin-jeans.

“There are more ways for this to go, Rio. Be smart. Think like a businessman.”

The insult stirs just beneath the surface, but Rio pays it no mind. For all Nico’s fancy degrees and contacts, he still a player in the same scummy circles as Rio. And right now he’s got him by the balls.

“You ain’t got nothin I want.”

They stare each other down for a long while before Nico shifts, changing tactics.

“How _is_ Schiller?” he wonders, back to bein all conversational. “Are you still his favourite son?”

Rio snorts. “You wanna know if he misses you? ‘Cuz the answer’s fuck no.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” he smiles, his fingers now lightly drumming. “No more meetings; hopping to someone else’s tune.”

“Who’s bankrollin you now?”

“Me.”

Rio tries not to let his surprise show; tries not to feel a stab of envy.

“So Russia wasn’t a complete bust; I’m glad for ya. Would suck to freeze your nuts off for nothin.”

“Then you see why your kill order’s a bit of a problem for me. I have costs, Rio.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a you problem. You scared, run to your momma. Or better yet, pull the fuck outta my city.”

Nico relaxes in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“Seems like I’ve been away too long; you’ve forgotten who I am.” His voice is low, even. “I’m not scared, Rio. I’m annoyed.”

And once upon a time, maybe that woulda ignited some fear, but Detroit is his and his only now. He ain’t gotta share and he definitely don’t gotta play nice.

“ _You_ asked for this meetin. That means you scared.”

“And you took it,” he snaps. “Why?”

“’Cuz it’s easier to imagine tearin out someone’s throat when they right in front o’ you.”

A vein near his eye jumps, but otherwise Nico doesn’t react.

Then he clears his throat loudly, sitting forward.

“I don’t remember you being this scared of competition.”

“That ain’t what this about and you know it. How’d you feel if I threatened your loved ones, huh?” He forces his ticking jaw to calm; pulling his lips into a wicked grin instead. “Oh, that’s right – you ain’t got none. They all hate your guts.”

Nico grinds his teeth and Rio watches him struggle like plastic in a fire, struggles to keep the real him contained. The silence stretches as he breathes through pulling and tearing; melting at the edges, nostrils flaring as his fingers dig in.

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, admirably calm.

“I didn’t threaten anyone.”

“You came after my son,” Rio growls.

“That’s not what I was there for.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rio snorts, ready for a lie: “What were you there for then, huh? C’mon, let’s hear it.”

There’s something strange in Nico’s eyes, something Rio can’t read, before he looks away. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was holding back a smile.

When his eyes meet Rio’s again, they’re playful, ready with the bullshit he’d been expecting.

“It was just a visit. I haven’t seen the little guy since he was a pup.”

“And you ain’t ever gonna set eyes on him again.”

Nico stares at him, eyes serious now, then straightens in his chair.

“You do know I’d go? You’d never have to worry about me setting foot near your son ever again.”

He lets the words out, lets them breathe.

Then he delivers the kicker.

“Just tell me where she is.”

Rio jumps up, kicking his chair back, and its metallic scrape over the cement floor is almost as loud as his growl.

“Not even over my dead fuckin body.”

Nico stares at him hard and Rio matches it, conveying exactly how much he wants to put him in the ground.

Finally Nico rises too.

“Then I’m staying,” he sighs. “And that means I need my business back up and running.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

“It’s not about luck. It’s about being smart.”

“Cool,” Rio rolls his eyes, officially over it. “We done?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, already heading back towards the curtain, but then Nico speaks.

“You’ve always been more of a vinegar than honey guy.”

And Rio stops, rolling back on his heels as he waits for the threat.

Nico ain’t new at this shit; he a pro. He waits, several seconds ticking by, letting Rio’s mind wander to all the areas he’s vulnerable. There ain’t any, but improvements can always be made. A security upgrade here; a flip of the game there.

Once Nico’s dead and buried, that is. He ain’t scared of him. He ain’t worried.

“Who was that woman with Marcus?”

It’s like ice down the back of his jacket.

“Nanny? Girlfriend? Or has Marina gotten a lot fuller and whiter?”

Rio slowly turns, glaring at the back of Nico’s head; at the exact spot where he wants to put a bullet.

“That’s none o’ your business.”

Now Nico turns to face him, his expression smug.

“I mean, you wouldn’t just leave your son with a stranger, would you?” He shrugs. “Maybe I should pop in. Get to know her.”

And Rio strides toward him, ready to take him apart.

“You think I can’t look after my people??”

“Every minute of every day? I’m doubtful, Rio, truly.” He grins at Rio’s look of contempt then puts on a mask of consideration. “Now, let’s see: based on the vehicle she was driving, she has children, probably of school-going age. How many schools are there in this district that a woman like her would send her children to? Two, three? Maybe an hour or two at each during dropoff – how long before one of my guys spots her? How long till I’m at her front door? A lady like that? I’ll bet she has a _lovely front door_.”

Rio shoves him, hard.

“You don’t fuckin TOUCH HER!”

Unbothered, Nico steps forward again, running a hand through the hair that had been disturbed.

“Or maybe I won’t even have to get close to her. Maybe I’ll call up Plotnikov or Reznikov or any Kov, really, with sharpshooting know-how.”

Rio glowers at him, his jaw working.

It ain’t a bluff. He knows Nico too well, and he definitely has the contacts.

And it’s fuckin ironic, isn’t it? Nico hadn’t threatened his son or Marina, or anyone he knows he cares about.

_Marina, she ain't a part of all o' this. She safe; she off limits. But you? You a part of the game, sweetheart, and that means if someone takes a shot, you standin right in front of me._

His own fucking words coming back to bite him.

“Truce,” he growls through his teeth.

And Nico smiles, slow but broad.

“Having no one you love doesn’t seem like such a drawback now, does it?” His gaze is smarmy, calculating. “You should know better, Rio.”

He doesn’t say anything, just twists around, his hands fisted as he heads for the exit.

Rio barrels out, seeing red, and more irony is just what he needs in this damn day. Because the one thing he wants more than anything in this world right now is the one thing he’d just agreed to take off the table.

Demon looks worried. 

“What happened in there?”

Rio doesn’t slow down; pushes his way out of the warehouse.

“Cancel the kill order.”

Demon turns on him in surprise as they get to his car.

“ _What_? What did he say??”

Rio clicks his tongue.

“That he got people who don’t question his orders.”

“Boss, you’re scarin me. We had him on the ropes, what changed?”

Everything. Because he’d known about her – had actually taken note of her that day – and he knew how to find her and now, worse still, he knows that she means somethin to him.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck.

He’s spiralling but he’s gotta keep it under wraps; can’t let Demon know. Not after he’d already voiced concerns about her.

“You gonna cancel it or not?”

Demon hesitates before sighing; nodding.

“Yes.”

“Good. I got somewhere to be.”

* * *

Beth’s annoyed.

Rio’s over ten minutes late and there’s not exactly much to entertain herself with – there isn’t really that much to see of an empty lot.

She’s already checked out all the facilities and called the agent with all her questions and now she’s just wandering around, trying to figure out whether he’s even still coming. If he replied to texts, that would be amazing.

Then she hears the backdoor slam and in a few seconds he’s found her.

“You’re late,” she glares testily.

“Had a meetin.”

“So you double-booked me?” she huffs.

“Here, ain’t I?”

“And in a mood,” she notes. “Who was the meeting with?”

“That ain’t important.”

God, she hates it when he gets like this.

But she sets her shoulders, trying to be her most professional.

“Well, this is it. The garage is better than the one we have now and I’m sure you saw how discreet the backdoor is.”

And Rio darts his eyes to one corner then another before he steps up to her, his eyes turbulent.

“You know what we doin here is dangerous, right?”

Something strange curls into the pit of her stomach.

“You're talking about the lot?”

He’s seen, what, two inches of it?

Rio stares, features hard. “What else would I be talkin about?”

She sighs, long and drawn out.

“It's a risk, yes... But it should be worth it.”

“And if it's not?”

God, what is his _problem_?

“This was your idea; are you changing your mind?”

“ _Oh, it was_?”

And something in that makes her catch her breath – because this had _definitely_ been his idea, but _them_? At this point, it’s too tangled to even figure out who’s to blame.

“Are we still talking about the lot?”

And he meets her eyes for only a second longer before turning and wandering off, looking around some more.

“You don't just buy the first car's tyres you kick,” he mutters.

Beth rolls her eyes, not least because he’s back to avoiding her direct questions.

“Suddenly you're a car salesman?”

“Nuh. But I'm pretty damn good at buyin cars.”

“Well, we don't need to go kicking any more tyres. I've done my homework. This is the perfect location – for customers, and to stay connected to its mother branch, with optimal proximity from our nearest competitor – at a really great price.”

“Kinda small.”

“It's a good size for a second lot. And it's the best available right now.”

“You talk to your ex about it?”

There’s something bitter around the edges of the question that she chooses to ignore.

“Yes.”

“What he say?”

“That it has good afternoon sunlight coming from the north.”

Whatever that means. She’d assumed it was something pleasing for customers and hadn’t cared too much after Dean agreed with her other estimations of the place. She also figured he just hadn’t had much to add after she’d laid out all the results of her research.

“Light's comin from the east, ma.”

Oh.

Rio smirks unkindly. “That moron good for anythin?”

“He's going to do the first round of interviews.”

He’d said he’d do it and Beth didn’t really care enough to fight him on it. The faster this place is up and running, the better. She’s still cognisant of Spert likely watching her every move – she needs to get the shell game into motion.

“Interviews?”

“For the new staff.”

“Oh. Naw.”

“What do you mean?”

“Naw; _you_ doin that.”

“I... What? Why?”

“’Cuz I don't trust him.”

“But you trust me?”

“To hire the right people for the job,” he nods. “That secretary o' yours, I like her. Ten or so more like her, we got ourselves a dealership.”

And maybe he has a point – Dean has a tendency to hire people like him, and diversity is something that needs to be considered right from the very beginning.

Still.

“ _We_?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“ _I_ have a dealership,” she points out. “We have a pill operation.”

“Dang, you splittin assets already?” he laughs dryly.

She forces herself not to flush at the allusion to marriage, choosing to fold her arms instead.

“Well, I have to be prepared for the next time you disappear.”

“You ain't ever lettin that go, huh?”

“What do you expect, when you just leave one day, with a slew of unresolved questions in your wake?”

He looks very amused by this, like she’s being dramatic, and ok maybe the wording had been a bit, but why can’t he acknowledge the damage his actions had created? The black hole of insecurity it had opened?

“Unresolved questions, huh?”

“Yes.”

“A'ight, then let's resolve em, then. How 'bout another round of 20 Questions?”

She scoffs. “Are you actually going to answer this time?”

“Depends if they good enough, remember.”

_Are you capable of providing a real answer to anything?_

_Depends how good the question is._

“Fine. 20 Questions,” she agrees. And the first one makes it to her lips easily: “Why didn't you say goodbye?”

“Texted you.”

_Free woman now, huh? Congrats._

_What do you want me to do with all your stuff?_

_Enjoy it._

“That was supposed to be goodbye?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“...Did you think about me at all?”

He looks at her for a moment, as if deliberately ignoring how hard that was for her to even utter, then turns to inspect what will be the new front desk.

Several seconds pass before he answers, his back still to her.

“Guess so.”

Which is a shitty answer, but she doesn’t let it get to her, forging ahead.

“Did you leave because I saw your place?”

“I left 'cuz it was the smart thing to do.”

“The smart thing or the easy thing?”

And now he spins back, something in the line of his jaw that tells her she’s skating on thin ice.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you drove your wife crazy till she filed for divorce and when I needed you, you just disappeared.”

“What'd you expect me to do, huh?!”

Instantly she’s just as mad, taken right back to that night in his car, with him laughing at her for freaking out about going to prison.

_That sucks._

“I don't know!” she yells. “Buy off a cop, frame someone else, do _something_! It was a _murder_ charge!”

At that point she wouldn’t have complained about any of his methods.

“You quit, 'member? Said you were done. That means you weren't my problem no more. You can't just pick and choose when you wanna be in the game, honey.”

“So you decided to show me?”

“Some lessons gotta be taught that way.”

“I'm not your fucking son, Rio.”

“So what are you, Elizabeth?”

And she sets her shoulders; takes a breath. Lets the moment air.

“Work. That's what you said I was.”

His anger’s dissipated too and he shakes his head with a sigh, as if it can erase all he’d said that night.

“I was upset.”

“Right. And instead of telling me you were mad, you did the easy thing – you packed up and left.”

“’Cuz that was the easy thing?”

She falters and he steps forward.

“Eight.”

She’s forgotten to keep count – forgotten they’re even playing – and it sets her off kilter enough for him to ask a question.

“What'd you tell your lady friends about what we got goin on?”

She frowns, even more stunned.

“Ruby and Annie?”

He nods.

“What I know. Which isn't exactly much,” she scoffs.

“And what they say?”

“I don’t know.” Why is he asking her about this?? “They're… worried. Confused.”

“They or you?”

She glares and now he’s an arm’s length away.

Beth clears her throat.

“Annie said I'm shitting where I eat.”

He smirks a little.

“Guess you are.”

It annoys her. She’d hoped he’d have some comfort for that; a salve.

“Then so are you,” she bites out.

“Yeah, and it’s goin real damn well so far,” he scoffs sarcastically.

She’d ask what that’s supposed to mean – there’s a particularly acidic edge to his tone that she can’t quite place – but he turns to move away and the words die on her lips.

“Does it matter what I told them?” she asks instead.

He half-turns with a shrug.

“Tryna see where your head’s at.”

But it’s not that, or at least that’s not the full extent of it, and she wants to groan in frustration because this feels way too familiar.

“You know, we’ve been here before.” Her voice is frosty and he raises a brow, forcing her to elaborate: “You refusing to explain what you’re really worried about, even though it’s in my best interest to know.”

_Then just explain what’s going on. You obviously want me to protect Marcus from something – how can I do that if you won’t tell me what it is?_

“’Cuz all I do all day is think about what’s in _your_ best interests,” he scoffs.

Just like that, she’s done.

“No, all you do all day is think of ways to be as obscure as possible while also expecting full cooperation and no questions, and I can’t stand it anymore, I really can’t!”

And it fuels him forward, putting him back in front of her in seconds.

“I got powerful enemies, darlin. You want my enemies to be your enemies?”

Is that what he’s scared of? That someone will find out about them? But why now all of a sudden?

“Of course not.” Just thinking of Schiller, who isn’t even an enemy, makes her queasy. “But I wouldn’t tell anyone about us, and neither would Ruby or Annie.”

“ _Us_.”

He seems to flick the word from his mouth, the way you’d try to kill an insect, and Beth feels incredibly small; incredibly dumb.

She considers saying something, but she’s not convinced it won’t come out with tears so instead she turns on her heel.

She’s gotten two steps away when he grabs her by the elbow.

“Don’t do that, mami.”

His tone, soft for the first time, coupled with the endearment threatens to break her and she blinks several times, forcing back the tears, before turning back to face him.

He looks remorseful but conflicted, and she wishes for the millionth time that she could see into his mind. She wishes she knew where any of this is coming from. She wishes he trusted her enough for proper communication.

“I can’t do this, Rio. I can’t.”

He comes closer, till their lips are inches apart, and then even closer, brushing his mouth over hers. It’s warm and yet so cold – she shivers with the lack of him.

There are times she thinks she understands him and then there are moments like now, when she realises she doesn’t know any part of him. That she may never.

His hand comes up to caress her jaw, though, and it’s tender enough to make her eyes slip closed for a second.

“You don’t want this no more?” he asks, low, and it makes her eyes stutter open.

“I don’t know what I want.”

It’s the first time she’s let herself admit it aloud and she’s honestly not sure if it’s a lie or not.

She wants _him,_ but this – this is the rollercoaster all over again and she’s dizzy. Every time she thinks she can have one without the other, he proves her wrong.

If she does know what she wants, it’s something she can’t have; something that doesn’t exist. She wants him, without the tug of war and without the rollercoaster, but he keeps making it clear that that’s not an option. That he’ll never let her in.

Forcing herself, she steps away.

“I _want_ this lot. So tell me what you think, so we can both move on with our days.”

She doesn’t mean for it to come out quite so curt and cold, but it does, and Rio looks at her with a mix of respect and annoyance.

“Dunno,” he says eventually, backing up too. “I'll let you know. Wouldn’t wanna make the easy choice.”

She glowers. He’s joking, right?

“We don’t have that long to decide.”

“Then let’s go with no,” he decides, beginning to walk away, and she wishes she could throw something at his back.

“Oh my god, you’re not serious right now??”

“Yeah, my bad. I ain’t sure I’m ready to commit.”

She blinks, feeling like he’d hit her. She can’t breathe, for a second she can’t breathe.

“And we’re still talking about the lot?”

He pauses.

Then, slowly, he turns to look at her over his shoulder.

“That’s 21, Elizabeth.”

His smirk is cruel, triumphant, and then he’s gone.

And it’s not supposed to be a game with a winner, but she’s lost yet again.

* * *

Beth taps her pen against her notepad.

All his words are running through her mind – the first time he’d raised the idea of a second lot and then every time after that that he’d agreed to it.

And then her own words: how she’d told the girls that she was doing this for them, not him.

She _taps taps taps taps taps_ until the noise is driving even her insane and she launches the pen across the office.

God, why? Why is he able to get to her like this?

Her gaze goes to the name plate on her desk. _Beth Boland_ , it reads. And then the sign on the window: _Boland Motors._

_You need me_ , she’d told him that night, and he hadn’t been able to refute it, not really.

And maybe she needs him too, but not for this.

_I have a dealership. We have a pill operation._

She’d invited him to the lot as a courtesy, and because… because she’d _wanted_ him there. Wanted someone there to confirm that it was the right decision.

_Why do I still want him to have the answer?_

_Because he’s a man._

And this time it’d been different, but not completely different.

For some reason, Rio’s validation means something to her. His presence comforts her. And those two things had made for a dangerous combination. A dependence.

But she doesn’t need him.

She doesn’t need him.

Beth gets out her phone and dials. Getting voicemail, she clears her throat.

“Hi Brian, it’s Beth Boland. Thanks for arranging the viewing this morning. We’re definitely going to take it. Just let me know when Dean and I can come by to sign the papers.”

And when she ends the call, she feels better. She feels like she’s in charge again.

She’d taken her power back.

She doesn’t need him.

There’s a knock on the door, then Enya enters.

“Ms Boland, these came for you.”

Beth frowns. Enya’s carrying a huge bunch of dark pink roses, which is puzzling because she can’t imagine Rio sending her flowers – especially in apology – and she can count on one hand how many times Dean had done so throughout the course of their marriage.

“Thanks, Enya,” she says as she places them atop her desk.

She waits for the secretary to leave her office again before grabbing the envelope from inside the flowers and ripping it open.

The careful calligraphy is familiar, heart-stopping, and Beth can barely swallow.

Then she reads it and she has to sit down, her knees weak and her lungs inept.

How? How could he know?

She stares at it for a second longer before tearing it up, shredding it into tiny pieces and discarding them in her standard-issue office bin, as if an unbefitting end will somehow entirely erase its existence.

But when she closes her eyes to catch her breath, Beth still sees the words, as if burned into the backs of her eyelids.

_You didn’t tell him about us_. _I knew we were going to make a great team._

_Still looking forward to your call._

_N._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So keen to hear all your thoughts and theories! 
> 
> I'm not quite sure when the next part will be up - I have some drabbles that I want to finish and put up, so let me know what you'd like to see first :)


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